Morgoth Fun for the Whole Family
by Mornen
Summary: When Túrin, Beleg, Andróg, and Mîm are delivered by Sauron as dog toys to the home of an unsuspecting Silmarillion snob, things go anything but right. Especially when Morgoth decides he wants them back, they decide to find the world's greatest sorcerer, and Sauron decides he wants to take over the world. Part of the Plush Toy Collaboration. Off hiatus!
1. Who knows the counsels of Morgoth

Hi, as you probably learned from the description, this is a story that is part of the Plush Story Collaboration. So, the question was: what would happen if you received Silmarillion plush toys in the mail, and they came to life? This is my attempt at an answer.

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><p>'<em>Who knows the counsels of Morgoth?' <em>– J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Silmarillion_

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><p>'Blast!' Andróg brushed away a prickly branch tugging at his knee. 'Neithan, are you sure we are going the right way?' Andróg stopped for a moment to detach an especially tangled blackberry vine from his hair and stumbled after his captain.<p>

Túrin looked forward. 'I think so. Beleg said that it was.' He glanced behind him. 'I do wish you would be more careful and quiet,' he added reproachfully.

Andróg sighed and muttered something less than polite. He was normally a very stealthy, sneaky woodsman, but at the moment he was rather angry with Beleg for deciding to take a nice, little woodsy tramp in the middle of the night. Besides which, he was rather drunk. It was just like Beleg to decide to drag them off through the most unpleasant patch of the forest to Morgoth-knows-where on Yule.

'Hush!' Beleg called back at them, stopping for a moment to give them all a very critical glance before moving on soundlessly and hassle-free through the undergrowth.

'I do not trust him,' Andróg hissed to Túrin. 'He might be leading us to a trap.'

'I second that,' said Mîm.

Andróg looked hard at Mîm, who hated him and never seconded anything he said. The truth was that Mim had seconded quite a few things that Androg had said over the course of their acquaintance, but Androg, like most people who hold grudges, had forgotten to remember the good parts of the relationship, and had instead focused on the bad parts. Considering the relationship in question, focusing on the bad parts was not a hard thing to do.

Mîm ignored the glare and looked up at Túrin. 'We cannot trust him.'

Túrin sighed. 'We _can_ trust him. Beleg taught me everything that I know about the forest and fighting – I am certain he would not wish to waste all that training on a Man who might surpass his skill and fame one day.'

Andróg was unconvinced by Túrin's logic, and a quick glance at Mîm assured him that the Dwarf was as well. He was fairly certain that the Elf would probably want to get rid of Túrin so that he wouldn't surpass his skill and fame one day. But still they trudged on, as Beleg scouted ahead of them, a look of glee at their misery in his bright Elven eyes. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

Two hours of walking later (when Andróg's feet were completely frozen from the snow and ice, and his head was throbbing resplendently from the alcohol) they chanced upon a clearing in the dark woods where the moon shone down eerily through the twisted trees on the snow-frosted earth. Shadows lingered there deep and silent, black and grey across the white snow. Beleg came to a halt.

'I sense a great evil here,' he said quietly, stepping gracefully forward, his bow at the ready. His feet left no impression in the snow.

'That is because there _is _a great evil here,' came a sudden, menacing voice from the edge of the clearing, and into the light of the pale moon stepped a figure cloaked in black. 'And that would be me!' The figure cast off his black hood, and his white face shone like a pool of spilled milk. 'Sauron the _Cruel_!'

Beleg froze in fear and gasped. He had not been expecting to see one of Morgoth's greatest servants walking so freely in their land, but Andróg leapt forward, sword in hand. He had been expecting a trap and had thus not been caught off guard. There was also the matter of Andróg not really realizing who Sauron was, which is probably why he felt as bold as he did.

'Your evil will do you no good!' he cried. Crossing the clearing in one bound, he pressed the tip of his sword to Sauron's throat. 'We Men are not as stupid as you Elves think.'

Sauron smirked. 'I am not an _Elf_,' he said, pulling Andróg's sword away before he had a chance to react. He looked down at it with mild curiosity for a moment before snapping it clean in two and throwing the two halves in opposite directions. 'I am a Maia and an _evil_ Maia at that. _And_ I can do _this!_' He made his fiery eyes flame up brightly as if they would set the whole wood ablaze.

Andróg slunk back, quaking with fear.

Sauron looked quite proud of himself. He gave another little smirk and snapped his fingers. From the dark forest stepped an innumerable host of Orcs – complete with a Balrog. Sauron looked even prouder of himself and wriggled with evil excitement.

'Now,' he said, when he saw that the little party were gathered together, disarmed, surrounded, and with no hope of escape. 'I am so _thrilled_ to be able to deliver this _very _important message to you.'

'What message?' demanded Túrin, who was struggling valiantly but vainly against the Orcs who held him fast.

'Oh, just a message from Morgoth detailing how your life will be ruined,' Sauron said nonchalantly, blowing on his already dry black nail polish. He turned with a sudden wicked sweep towards Túrin and gave him his most devilish smile. 'Wydjyuask?'

'Because you said it was important,' said Túrin sourly.

'Oh, yes, it is.' Sauron glanced up at the sky. 'I'm truly sorry, but it doesn't look like I'll have time to torture you tonight,' he apologized. 'I do have quite a bit of work to do to get you ready, and my Orcs aren't too fond of daylight and all that.' He shrugged and sighed, giving them a remorseful smile.

'That's quite all right with us, actually,' Beleg assured him.

Sauron raised his eyebrows and drew his fingers thoughtfully across Beleg's face for a moment, ruefully contemplating all the ways he could ruin it. He sighed again but then clapped his hands together and gave them all his best attempt at a sunny smile (which failed quite dreadfully). 'Fine, let's get down to business then. This mainly involves _you_, Túrin, since you are the main player in Melkor's latest scheme.'

'What scheme would that be?' Túrin asked, narrowing his eyes.

'His I-shall-take-my-revenge-on-my-despised-enemy-Húrin-by-bringing-about-the-deaths-and/or-ruin-of-his-entire-family-one-by-one-or-at-the-same-time-it-doesn't-really-matter-which-but-one-by-one-sounds-more-dramatic-by-using-their-own-faults-against-them-so-that-they-destroy-themselves-hopefully-sneaking-a-good-bit-of-incest-in-there-since-that-always-makes-things-juicy-where-was-I-ah-yes-destroy-themselves-whilst-my-despised-enemy-Húrin-watches-unable-to-help-them-thus-making-his-life-a-real-nightmare-their-lives-a-real-horror-my-own-life-one-big-happy-picnic-and-creating-an-epic-tragedy-all-at-the-same-time-aren't-I-a-genius? scheme,' Sauron said in one breath.

'Oh,' said Túrin.

'Yes, unfortunately, the immeasurable patience of Melkor has began to run dry (mainly due to some silly incident involving that whatdyucallim…Turgon! chap), so he has decided to speed things up a bit.'

'How?' asked Túrin nervously.

Sauron just grinned diabolically and pulled out a strange cardboard box. 'You'll see.'

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><p><em>AN: By the way, it _is_ possible to say Morgoth's scheme all in one breath; I tried. _


	2. The Master of Doom is gone

_'The Master of Doom is gone to challenge his doom far hence…' _– J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Unfinished Tales_

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><p>Sauron snickered as he strolled down the road with the large box tucked safely under his arm. He took extra care to walk unevenly, jolting and shaking the box as much as he possibly could.<p>

_Melkor always has the greatest ideas_, he mused to himself, falling back into his normal admiration of the dark lord. _Imagine having to spend the rest of your life as a plush toy – aware of all that happens to you, but unable to do anything about it_.

Really, it was brilliant.

And he had the privilege of finding them the _perfect_ home – preferably somewhere with cute, slobbering, hyperactive babies and big, slobbering hyperactive dogs.

He chuckled evilly and tossed the box to his other arm. Hard. If the plush toys inside that had once been Túrin, Beleg, Andróg, and Mîm could have groaned, they would have. Sauron was sure of it.

This thought lifted his iniquitous spirits a great deal, and he picked up his pace, skipping with wicked satisfaction down the street. The box bounced deliciously with each skip.

In the midst of this perverse pleasure, Sauron's cell phone rang. He dropped the box carelessly onto the road and flipped the phone open, pressing the answer button with a graceful finger. 'Hello,' he said in the calm, cool voice of a sly, seductive, sadistic Maia who had _not _been skipping only a moment ago.

'Sauron, what is taking you so long, you idiot?' It was Gothmog.

Sauron rolled his eyes in indignation and straightened his shoulders. 'Do I have to remind you of whom you are speaking to?' Sauron said with great composure and a delicate sniff. 'You weird, little, freaky-fire Bal—'

'I know who I'm speaking to, you push-over, snivelling, slimy sl—'

'Then speak to me with more respect next time,' Sauron snapped, holding his head high.

Gothmog started to snarl angrily over the phone, but Sauron didn't flinch. 'You're wasting time.' He yawned. 'Do you have anything of importance to say, or should I just hang-up?'

There was a slight growl. 'Melkor says that he wants you back at headquarters within the hour.'

Sauron stiffened. 'Does Melkor fail to reali…'

'Do not question Melkor, largest and greatest and mightiest and most powerful of all beings!' Gothmog roared, sounding a great deal like a furious, rampant, uncontrollable, raging forest fire.

Sauron sighed, considering whether or not to tell the Balrog that he was being redundant. Deciding against it, he lifted the phone again to his ear. 'Is there a problem at HQ?' he asked delicately.

'Of course there is a problem, you cross-eyed, spike-haired, imp!'

'And what, may I ask, is it?'

'Some rebellious Noldorin thrall painted the front gates baby blue!'

'That _does_ sound like a problem,' Sauron murmured. 'Tell Melkor I'll be back just as soon as I drop this box off somewhere…_safe_.' He snapped the phone shut on the beginnings of Gothmog's undoubtedly rude answer and tucked it, with a sigh, into the pocket of his tight black leather pants.

He straightened his shirt out and tossed his head, trying to ignore his disappointment. If he had to be back in an hour, there was not much time left to find the perfect house of complete misery. He turned, frustrated, and gave the box an angry kick. He watched it scuttle miserably across the street with a grimly satisfied smile.

Knowing other beings were miserable _always _made him smile.

The box bounced helplessly and tipped over into a wet, tangled ditch. Typical. Sauron marched indignantly after it when he heard something that made him stop in his depraved tracks.

It sounded like a large, slobbering, hyperactive dog. He stepped closer and listened harder. No, he had been wrong. It was not a large, slobbering, hyperactive dog. It was a playful, spoiled, hyperactive dog.

The bane of plush toys.

He felt a particularly sinister smile cross his face and rubbed his hands together excitedly. It was perfect.

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><p>'Excuse me, miss,' said Sauron, putting on his best subservient voice – the one he had worked to perfection trying to get out of the games of Twister® (another invention that someone from 'the future' had plagiarized) Melkor made him play with Gothmog when he was bored.<p>

The girl, who had been staring rather uselessly at a white and grey cat clambering about in a tree, turned to him suddenly and stared at him as if he were insane.

Sauron indignantly straightened out his blue uniform with shiny gold buttons, adjusted his blue cap with the shiny black rim, tugged lightly on his spotless white gloves, stamped his shiny patent leather shoes, and pulled out a large box from the blue bag he wore over his shoulder. 'I have a delivery for you.'

She stared harder.

_Stupid girl, _thought Sauron. _Hasn't she ever seen a postman before?_

Evidently she had not, because she didn't answer him. She just folded her arms and stared at him as if by doing so she could make him go away.

Sauron decided that she had vision defects.

'A delivery,' he repeated.

She still said nothing. It was quite likely that she had hearing problems as well.

'_I. Have. A. Delivery. For. You_,' he said very slowly, very clearly, and very loudly.

The only reply he got was the fierce barking of the playful, spoiled, hyperactive dog he had heard earlier, only less playful. It was standing on the driveway with its fur raised and its teeth bared. It didn't bite him.

_Stupid dog, _thought Sauron. _Hasn't it ever seen a postman before? _

He glanced at his watch and then looked down at the box he was holding and then at the two stupid creatures staring at him on the driveway. He hated standstills. They were terribly bad for the digestion.

'Just take the stupid box,' he grumbled, shoving it in the stupid girl's arms. He marched back up the stupid driveway, past the stupid mailbox, and on down the stupid road, not even stopping when the stupid cat in the stupid tree swatted off his stupid hat.

He was already late.

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><p><em>Me: *steps out, looking innocent* Review?<em>

_Sauron: Stupid girl. *pushes me off a cliff*_

_Me: *falling* That wasn't very nice!_

_Sauron: I am Sauron! __'Nice' wasn't even part of my vocabulary until I needed an adjective to describe machine guns._

_Me:..._


	3. And tales of Túrin were told in his hall

_'And tales of Túrin were told in his halls,' - _J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lays of Beleriand_

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><p><em>Doggie's Favourite Dog Toys - 1010 Melcot Drive, Anban, Pennsylvania - 19723<em>

Chantal ran her finger over the return address. For some reason, the names seemed remotely familiar. Wondering if it were a legitimate address, she regretted briefly having never memorized all the nation's zip codes. But she had not. Before this it had not seemed necessary. After all, it was not every day that a strange package addressed to her was delivered by an exceptionally tall man dressed like a postal worker from some gilded music video. Come to think of it, that _never_ happened. It was all rather suspicious.

Taking a step back, she surveyed the box sitting so innocently on the kitchen table. _Doggie's Favourite Dog Toys. _That was strange too. Chantal and her family never ordered dog toys; they usually just picked up old toys from the recycling centre. Ordering dog toys seemed absurd and extravagant. Chantal folded her arms stubbornly.

_Unless it wasn't dog toys. _

She narrowed her eyes at the box. It might be a trick. It might a trap. It might be something _dreadful._

Her eyes widened as she thought of the worst possibilities. _A bomb? A severed head? Toxic poisons? The complete Waltons collection?_

Her curiosity was draining her: her hands were beginning to tingle, and her head was beginning to ache. She grabbed a knife from the utensils drawer and positioned the tip of the knife against the tape.

_Where does the word 'knife' come from? _She mused as she slid the blade across the top of the box, cutting through the tape.

Hesitating momentarily, she looked over at the red Webster's New College Dictionary her sister and she had slowly torn to pieces in their search for word meanings and then down at the box again; the flaps were beginning to lift already. Forgetting its etymology, Chantal placed the knife down on the table and pulled the box open, half-closing her eyes in anticipation of an unspeakable horror.

_A head._

She jumped away from the box, slipping in her stocking feet on the new kitchen tiles. Catching herself on the counter, she stopped, thinking. A snapshot of what she had just seen flashed through her mind. Cloth eyes, cloth face, cloth hair. Which meant, no blood, no gore, no death. She stepped back to the box and peered carefully inside.

Four little people plush toys were curled up tightly together, shoved without mercy into the depths of their cardboard prison. Scolding herself for being so overly dramatic, she carefully lifted one up.

It was about two feet tall and had shaggy black hair, black clothes, and a black sword. It was smiling at her.

Chantal nearly dropped it. Who on earth would give their dog toys that look like people she wondered as she lifted the next one out.

This one was a bit smaller with brown hair; it was dressed in various shades of brown and green. It also had an extraordinarily big smile stitched across its face. _How odd._

The third was only about a foot high with a strange beard dangling down past its knees and a pack sown tightly to its back. The smile on its face looked completely mix-matched with its narrowed eyebrows. Chantal put it down hastily and lifted out the one that had been left on the bottom.

It was slimmer than the others with pointed ears, strange silvery-brown hair, and a bow clasped tight in its hand. Chantal pulled on the bow; it would not come off. She placed it down near the one with the exceptionally long beard and took a step back, surveying the strange collection.

They just lay there, smiling at her. It was quite unnerving.

'Where are those from, Chantal?'

Chantal turned. Her sister, Elina, had come into the kitchen. She looked down at the toys in puzzlement.

'They came in the mail,' Chantal said. 'I think.'

Elina picked up the one dressed in black. 'What are they?'

'The box said they were dog toys.' Chantal lifted it up and looked at the strange address again. 'They're from…Melcot...drive in…Anban…Pennsylvania.' She put the box down and lowered her voice. 'Or so it says.'

'Dog toys?' Elina squeezed the body of the toy she was holding.

'_How shall an Elf judge of Men?'_ it squeaked.

'It's Túrin,' Chantal whispered. Quickly she picked up the one with the bow, giving its body a squish. '_If I stayed beside you, love would lead me, not wisdom.'_

Her eyes widened. 'It's Beleg. The Dwarf must be Mîm.'

A squeeze proved her right. _'Learn this, fools! Do not put bonds on a Dwarf!' _

The two sisters exchanged worried glances, and then Elina squeezed the last one. _'See! There is blood on the hill-top,' _it rumbled.

'Andróg,' she said.

Chantal nodded and looked again into the box. A paper was lying there, folded up. She picked it up and unfolded it.

_Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of The Children of Húrin Plush Toy Collection. This set was made with the carefulest detail for plush toy authenticity. Each toy speaks five phrases and has authentic weapons and clothes. Perfect for the avid Silmarillion collector – this set will leave you smiling._

Chantal raised her eyebrows. There was also an addition added with pencil in a fluid script on the bottom.

_Also perfect for dogs and small children. Come now, Melkor, collectors don't hurt their collections!_

Chantal handed the note to Elina. 'What do you think it means?'

Elina looked it over. 'I have no idea.'

Chantal nodded and picked Beleg up again. 'Isn't he cute?' she asked, cradling him in her arms.

Their Border collie whimpered. Chantal looked down at her. 'No, Laurel, this toy is not for you,' she said. 'He's ours.' She bent down and kissed the top of plush toy Beleg's head.

Laurel sighed and looked sulky. 'Go get your own toy,' Chantal said, 'Where is your—' But she was cut off as the toy in her arms stirred. 'Elina,' she said slowly. But she did not need her sister to confirm it. The toy moved again. It was growing.

Chantal dropped it. It fell limply onto its head on the orangey-blue floor, growing larger every moment. Chantal grabbed Elina and dragged her away from it, her mind flashing with ideas. A word trickled the back of her thoughts. _Magic._

'Aahh,' the toy – the Elf – groaned. For an Elf it now was. He lay on the tiles, curled up upon himself, his hands clutching his head. 'Ai,' he moaned.

Without really thinking, Chantal dropped to her knees beside him and placed her hand on his head, brushing his hair back. A bruise was forming where she had dropped – _the toy_.

'Are you all right?' Chantal asked as his bright eyes fixed on her. 'You aren't hurt too badly, are you?' She touched the bruise again. 'I could get you some ice.'

Ignoring her questions, Beleg sat up quickly, glancing about the room. 'And so it worked,' he whispered. 'I did not think that it would happen so quickly.' He twisted lithely to his feet and gingerly lifted the Túrin toy off the table. 'How cruel can the devices of Morgoth be?' He pressed his lips to the toy's forehead and then set it on the floor and took a step back, waiting.

Nothing happened.

'I beg your pardon?' Chantal said.

He turned to her. 'We are here because of Morgoth – the dark enemy of the world.' He pointed down at the plush toy. 'Behold Túrin, son of Húrin, foe of Morgoth and brother of my heart!'

It smiled blankly up at them.

'Morgoth cast a spell upon us, turning us into these…' Beleg looked with distaste at Mîm and Andróg, '…children's toys. We can see and feel and hear all that happens to us when we are in such state, so that our suffering may be great. Only a kiss can free us.' He knelt down and kissed the Túrin toy again. He frowned. 'But it does not seem to be working.' He kissed the toy all over its face, but nothing happened. Looking crushed, Beleg rose to his feet. He turned to the sisters, his eyes glinting. 'You broke my spell,' he said to Chantal. 'You should try.'

Feeling very awkward, Chantal bent down and kissed the Túrin toy, jumping back quickly as it started to shoot up. It was hard to tell at what point toy became man, but in a matter of moments, Túrin Turambar was bumping his head against the kitchen ceiling.

'Argh!' he groaned, rubbing his head.

'I'm sorry,' Chantal said, stepping closer to Elina and taking her arm. For an odd reason, she was feeling dreadfully responsible for the entire predicament.

'It is quite all right,' Túrin said, as he looked them both over. 'We seem to be indebted to you for freeing us from that cruel spell. Pray tell me, how did you know how to reverse it?'

'Um… well,' Chantal said. 'It was rather…'

'I believe it was a fortunate accident,' said Beleg. 'Is that not right?' His eyes seemed to blaze through her.

'Yeah.' Chantal nodded. 'An accident.'

'Sauron then was not successful in his choice,' Túrin said, running his hand over the hilt of his black sword. 'For he sought to seek a household where we would be ruined, suffering in unremorseful torment.'

'That was his design, but good fortune has denied it.' Beleg looked down at Túrin's hand. 'Túrin,' he said softly. 'Why do you wear my sword?'

'I know not, my troth-brother,' Túrin said. 'For when I was awoken it was on me. Here, take it back and know still that I need you beside me.' He undid the sword from his belt and fastened it about Beleg's waist. 'For, Beleg, I would have you with me in all things.'

Chantal wondered if that included being turned into a plush toy. She figured that it did.

'Nay, you should wear it,' said Beleg to Túrin. 'For you are the captain.' He refastened the belt around Turin's waist. 'And I would have you lead us still.'

'Thank-you.' Túrin placed his hand on Beleg's shoulder. 'You truly stand with me in all deeds.'

'In all deeds that I might.' Beleg answered.

Chantal glanced from the two of them over at the other two plush toys. She did not think it would be a good idea to awaken them. It would probably lead to lots of trouble and lots of strife, and someone might wind up dead. That would not be a good way to end a Monday.

'Awaken them!' Túrin cried suddenly, turning to the sisters. 'For did I not hear that the kiss must be given by one who is not under the curse?'

'No, not exactly,' Chantal said. 'Beleg said that you could only be awoken by a kiss, but the he could not awake you, so it is an assumption that could be made about the nature of the curse.' She paused. 'However, it could also be that a person under the curse cannot be awoken by an Elf, so that is also a possibility.'

Túrin bent and kissed the Andróg toy. 'It must be given by someone who is not cursed,' he said.

'Or it could have to be a female person who gives the kiss,' said Chantal. 'Or it could have to be an opposite sex person. Or—'

'Will you not then awaken them?' Túrin said.

'Perhaps,' said Elina, who was worriedly stroking Laurel's head. Laurel had taken to cautiously whining and occasionally sniffing at Beleg's feet, wagging her tail. 'But I don't know if that…' she trailed off.

'Would be a good idea,' Beleg finished for her. 'Túrin, they are not what I would call very civilized. Their wild looks and ways might frighten these good ladies.' There was a catch of hope in his voice.

'Nay,' said Túrin, 'for I would not have my…man…continue to suffer as I have, nor the Dwarf, for he lent me shelter inside his home. I cannot just stand aside and let them continue under the cruel curse of Morgoth.' He turned back to the sisters. 'I pray of thee, release them.'

It was rather hard not to listen to him. His voice was deep and persuasive, and his eyes were pleading.

'No,' Chantal said firmly. 'For I have heard evil report of him.' She pointed at Andróg, realizing a bit too late that their strange way of talking was growing on her.

'I will contain him,' said Túrin, 'for he is under my command.'

'I do not trust him, nor the Dwarf.' She folded her arms and lifted her chin higher.

'As you wish,' Túrin said, with a bow of his head. 'My friend then will have to suffer unimaginable torment while I stand aside, helpless. O! a curse upon the name of Morgoth for thinking of a fate so dreadful! O! a curse upon the hands of Morgoth for his foul deeds.' He covered his face with his hands and began to weep.

'Please, don't,' Chantal said. She didn't really like watching people cry – especially people she already felts sorry for, like Túrin. Regretting it already, she kissed the Andróg and Mîm plush toys, stepping back with fear as they began to grow. 'There,' she said, 'I have freed them. But if ever they do harm to me or any of my people, may the curse you laid on Morgoth fall onto them!'

As she said that, Andróg sprang up, fear and anger in his eyes. His hand went down to his side, clutching for a sword or knife that was not there. He cursed and glared at the sisters.

Every bad thing they had ever read about him flashed through Elina and Chantal's minds.

Mîm growled but said nothing. He went to stand by Túrin's side.

'I am most grateful,' Túrin said, bowing his head awkwardly as he tried to avoid hitting the ceiling again.

'Huh,' said Chantal. 'Okay. Um…' She glanced at Elina, who nodded. They needed to talk to each other alone.

'Come this way, please,' Chantal said, leading them into the Blue Room. 'I believe that you might wish to…' she looked around for something for them to do. 'Watch the television. It will show you many things about this world.' She turned it on without glancing at it and retreated to the kitchen with her sister. The others did not follow them.

'What do we do?' Chantal asked, leaning back against the counter.

Elina shrugged and started to walk in a thinking circle around the kitchen. Neither of them was prepared to deal with the implications of four characters from their favourite books suddenly being in their house. They were prepared to deal with hurricanes, tornadoes, rampaging orcs, tyrant shoutings from their father, midnight baking escapades, and sudden alien invasions, but this – this was too good to be true. And also too terrible.

'I mean, how is this possible?' Chantal said. 'And what do we tell the little parentsies? This isn't a dream, is it?'

'It doesn't feel like a dream.'

'No, it doesn't.' Chantal closed her eyes. 'But if it isn't a dream…'

Elina stopped pacing suddenly. Chantal glanced over where she was looking. In the small hallway between the kitchen and living room Túrin was standing, Beleg, Andróg, and Mîm behind him.

'What is it?' Chantal asked warily.

Túrin raised his eyebrows. 'We do_ not _like Barney.'


	4. And full friendship he found not easily

_'And full friendship he found not easily'_ _– _J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lays of Beleriand_

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><p>The two maidens froze for a moment, giving each other worried looks. In fact, they looked so pathetic that Túrin felt sorry for speaking so harshly to them. After all, they had just freed him and his companions from Morgoth's spell.<p>

'There is no need to fear,' he said gallantly, taking a step forward. 'It is only that what we just saw was in no way pleasing to us. Indeed, we wished that this Barney, as they called him, would be slain.'

'And we would have been very happy to do it,' added Andróg, patting his belt where his knife should have been.

'His interactions with the children were indeed strange,' said Beleg. 'Do you not find it disturbing that this purple monster, which was very likely to be possessed of some evil spirit, was teaching those young, innocent children how to live?'

'Yes. Yes. That is most strange,' stammered the shorter of the two maidens, straightening her hair. 'I did not realize that was on.'

'On?' Túrin asked, fascinated.

'The show, the program,' she said, 'playing on television. I didn't realize.'

'What is television?' asked Beleg, his eyes gleaming with interest.

'It's what we just showed you. It's waves…of some sort…they…fly through the air…and are received by the antenna…which makes them into…pictures and sounds…somehow…I think.' She stopped. 'Yeah. That.'

'Ah,' said Túrin, trying to look as if he understood. 'Very well.'

'May I ask,' said Andróg, with a measured degree of faux politeness. 'Where the hell are we?'

Beleg shot him a sharp look.

Túrin held them gently apart from each other. 'That is a question that we would like answered, if you would be so kind as to tell us?'

'You're in America,' said the taller maid.

Túrin nodded. 'I see.'

'Here,' said the other maiden, stepping towards them, 'I could show you, on the map.' She gestured behind them.

Túrin, Andróg, Beleg, and Mîm turned around curiously, and she ducked swiftly past them, hitting something as she did so that clicked loudly.

A dim light from a glass dome came on from above them. Túrin stared at it in wonder. He had not believed that there were so many peoples in the world who made use of magic.

'We're here. Right here.' The maid pointed to the coast of a very large landmass. 'This is America.' She waved her hand over an enormous country.

'All of this is America?' said Beleg softly, ducking down to study the map. 'And this is…?' He touched an island.

'England. That's Scotland, and that other island is Ireland.' She tapped her finger against the map.

Túrin took Beleg's geography lesson as the perfect time to scrutinize his new hosts. After all, Beleg had taught him not to let any detail slip by unheeded, sometimes the littlest things were the most important.

This one, the geography teacher, was very short, not much higher than five feet he guessed, and slim. She had brown hair touched with gold and copper and pale skin. She was wearing a blue skirt, a black and white striped shirt, and striped wool socks. She seemed to be quite happy to name all the countries on the map. All in all, that told him…absolutely nothing.

He sighed. There had to be something to surmise. Beleg said that there always was something. But he had never been that good with people; he could disappear in the forest, shoot a (semi-stationary) target with his eyes closed, and throw even Elves off his trail, but he just didn't get people. He looked again, harder this time.

'That's Cuba. I've never been there. That island is Australia.'

No, nothing.

Very well, maybe he could learn something from the other one. He looked at her sharply where she was standing by the doorframe, petting the dog's head. She was taller but not very tall. He supposed it would be called average for a woman. She also had brown hair, but it was wavy. She was wearing a purple cardigan and dark blue trousers. Túrin decided that the two maidens were probably sisters.

'Ah, very good. I thank thee for your explanation,' Beleg said, bowing his head. 'Is this then your house?'

'Yes,' said the little geography teacher. 'I am Chantal, and this is my sister Elina.'

Túrin nodded gravely. He had been right.

'Are you hungry?' asked Chantal, turning the light off with another loud click as she ducked into the kitchen.

'Very,' said Andróg, who seemed to never pass up food.

Mîm glared after her and then looked up at Túrin. 'Why are we staying here?' he growled.

'We have nowhere to go,' said Túrin, reaching along the wall. There was something there, something small and hard that jutted out from the wall strangely. He tugged on it a few times, and it slipped upwards with a loud click. The light came back on. He shoved it down. The light went off. Up. On. Down. Off. Up. On. Down. Off. Up. On.

'Túrin, what is that?' Beleg lay his hand on his arm gently, looking up into his eyes.

With a shrug, Túrin shoved it down. The light went off.

'It's a light switch,' said Elina. 'It turns the light on.'

'How fascinating,' said Beleg, sliding his warm hand into Túrin's and holding it fast. 'But do you not think that we have seen enough of its use?'

Túrin nodded, stepping away from it. He bumped his head against the doorframe and sighed. Ducking under the frame and an irritating metal bar that just happened to be placed under it for him to bang his head on (in actuality, it was for exercise), he walked back into the large room. 'Is this a kitchen?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Chantal, who was standing by the green counter, slicing up a loaf of bread. 'Do you like grilled cheese?'

'Ah, yes,' said Beleg quickly.

'Good.' She turned a little white knob, and blue flames sprang up.

Andróg jumped.

She smirked.

Túrin quickly began to craft plans to leave.

* * *

><p>Two hours, three sandwiches, four glasses of milk, and five chocolate chip cookies later, Túrin began to doubt the wisdom of that plan. After all, they were in a completely foreign land with no certain knowledge of anything around them: leaving might not be a good idea.<p>

'Do you live alone?' he heard Beleg asking the maidens; he had been quizzing them on almost everything imaginable as soon as he had been told to sit down.

'No,' said Elina. 'We live with our parents and our brother.'

Mîm crinkled his nose up as he always did when they spoke and stuffed another cookie into his mouth.

Chantal suddenly looked worried.

'Is something wrong, my lady?' asked Beleg.

Túrin cupped his chin in his hand and watched them dutifully.

'No,' she said softly. She had an annoying habit of speaking as if she thought you might be trying out your newest hearing aids.

'Then what is it?'

Túrin suddenly heard what sounded like something very heavy being dragged across gravel, and turned in alarm. 'What is that?' he asked as the dog started to bark fiercely. He drew his sword.

'It's nothing to be alarmed about,' said Elina. 'Our parents are just coming home from shopping.'

'Which might be a good thing,' said Chantal, glancing at the emptied cookie jar as she went to answer the door.

'Ah, the estimable parents of our most gracious hosts!' Túrin cried as two very tired looking individuals walked into the room. He bowed from his waist. 'Your daughters have given us such good food and company that I would be shamed not to offer you this.' He pulled a ring off his finger and offered it to the man. He looked confused. _She _dropped her grocery bags.

Beleg quickly bent down and gathered them up, setting them down on the table. 'We seem to be your unintended guests, my good people,' he said. 'We are sorry for the fright, but we have come to your halls with no way that we know of to return to our lands.'

'We shall, of course, leave as soon as we are able to, if you so wish,' Túrin said.

The man, who was rather short for a man, with grey hair and a weatherworn face looked very interested. The woman, who was rather tall for a woman, and stood at the same height as her husband, looked very concerned.

'What are your names?' he asked.

'I am Neithan,' said Túrin.

'Túrin,' murmured Beleg.

Túrin ignored the remark. 'And this is Beleg. That is Andróg. And that is Mîm.'

'I'm Paul,' said the man, holding out a large hand. 'And this is my wife, Hanna.'

Túrin took his hand and found that his was shaken vigorously. He bowed again. Hanna gave him a smile and held her hand out to him. He took it and kissed it solemnly. She smiled again.

'Sit down,' said Paul. 'Sit down.'

Túrin retook his seat.

'Would you like some coffee?'

'No, thank-you,' he answered. 'Your daughters already saw it fit to feed us.'

'Good, good,' said Paul, studying them with curiosity. 'So, where are you all from?'


	5. Enter not into it!

_"Enter not into it!" _- J.R.R. Tolkien - _The Silmarillion_

* * *

><p>We are from Beleriand, my lord' said Túrin gravely.<p>

'Really?' asked Paul, puzzling over the statement. 'Where's that?'

'It is,' Túrin said slowly, his face worn with concentration. ''Tis very far away.'

'Belgium, actually,' said Andróg in a low growl. He looked very dangerous, almost as if he were deciding whether or not to steal a kitchen knife and murder someone on the spot.

Beleg lay his hand on Túrin's arm and nodded toward the man.

Túrin looked over. 'Yes,' he said, 'it is in Belgium.'

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Beleg nodded his head. He frowned a little, however.

'Belgium?' Paul repeated happily. 'That's a beautiful country…'

'It is,' Andróg said coldly. He took a step away from Mîm at the same moment the Dwarf stepped away from him. They glared at each other.

Paul didn't seem to notice. He was talking about some trip he made to Belgium once upon a time.

'That is quite fascinating,' said Beleg, who knew nothing of Belgium and rather wished Andróg hadn't brought it up. After all, just because they were given a lesson on geography didn't mean they had to use it when they had no idea what they were talking about. Anyway, he hadn't even realized Andróg had been paying attention. He sniffed at Andróg when no one else seemed to be paying attention to prove his thoughts to him, even if the uncouth, dirty man had no idea what he was proving. Andróg crinkled his nose at him and then looked away. Beleg shot him a well-deserved glare.

Short nails dug into his palms, and Beleg sighed softly and looked back over at Túrin, who was trying hard not to look annoyed. It wasn't working. Deciding just to be glad that it was _his_ hand Túrin was holding, Beleg kept his gaze purposefully away from Andróg and concentrated instead on the dog who was excitedly dropping toys at his feet.

_That's what Sauron wanted us to endure_ he thought with a shudder, looking down at the mutilated, saliva-sodden tiger resting on the tips of his shoes. He squeezed Túrin's hand tighter.

Túrin gave out a startled gasp of pain. 'Ai!'

Beleg dropped his hand quickly as all eyes in the room turned on them, and tucked some of his hair back behind his ear.

'Are you all right?' asked Hanna, who was looking them up and down with a great deal of curiosity and a hint of fear.

'I am quite well, thank-you for your concern,' Túrin said, bowing his head. 'I was only inflicted with a brief bout of pain on my hand, resulting, no doubt from the sudden fear of my dear friend. I pray you, Beleg, tell me, what is it that has caused your pulse to quicken so? I can feel your heart racing in my fingers.'

Beleg couldn't think of something else that had frightened him. He was no good at lying anyway. He shook his head gently and gave Túrin a tight smile. 'It is nothing.'

'Are you certain, my troth-brother?'

'I am quite certain. I would not want to trouble our good hosts with my petty anxieties.'

'Tea?' asked Hanna, setting down a porcelain pot painted with flowers and gilded with gold on the edges. She set down a few cups.

'Thank-you,' Túrin said.

Beleg took a cup as well since it did not seem likely that they would be excused from sharing in some culinary comforts with these cordial people, and he did not really feel a need to argue. He watched with interest as sugar and cream were measured into the cups.

'Would you like some cream in yours, Andróg?' he asked with an overly sweet smile. 'Or some sugar, perhaps, to sweeten your disposition and that sour face of yours?'

Túrin kicked him under the table. 'Beleg.'

With a sigh at being chastised, Beleg added some sugar to Andróg's cup and lightened it with a touch of cream. 'There,' he said, handing it to him.

Andróg took it clumsily, spilling the hot liquid on both their hands. Beleg yanked his hand back, rubbing it hastily with his other hand to dry it.

'Here, a napkin,' said Elina, shoving a strange piece of white…paper into his hands. He unfolded it carefully; it was so thin he could see straight through it. He wiped his hands dry and put the spent napkin down properly onto his lap. Keeping an ear on the conversation, he dipped his spoon into the sugar bowl, watching the little crystals glitter. _Sugar is a rare and valuable trade item,_he thought as he spooned some into his tea. He sniffed the dark liquid. _As is this tea. _He had a good working knowledge of all such rare and valuable trade items. It was very handy to anyone who travelled.

'Don't you want cream in your tea, Santtu?' Hanna asked the maiden who had introduced herself as Chantal.

Beleg pricked up a little. _An_ _additional name._ He wondered what it meant.

'No, Mum, I'm going to have milk.'

'But the cream is out.'

'But I want my tea with milk, not cream,' she answered.

'Ai ai ai ai,' Hanna muttered. 'Do you have to be so particular?'

'It tastes better that way,' she said.

'So,' Paul said, trying to pick the conversation back up to wherever it had been cut it off. 'What brings you to the states?'

'Well,' said Túrin, 'we…'

'We enjoy travelling,' Andróg growled.

Túrin nodded. 'Indeed we do.'

'Travelling is wonderful,' Paul asserted. 'It opens the mind to many different things.' He paused a moment, looking at them. 'So,' he began, pausing again hesitantly. 'Do you have anywhere you're headin'?'

'Not really,' said Túrin, 'we're just…travelling.'

'And do you have any place to stay?' the man asked in the true spirit of one who was trying to balance his ancient ideas of hospitality with his modern ideas of safety.

'No, I am afraid not,' Túrin said, clasping his hands together.

Hanna looked at the sword at his side to Paul and then back at the sword again. She put down her teacup.

'You can stay here,' Paul said bluntly. 'You aren't on drugs, are you?'

'No, indeed not,' Túrin answered, bowing his head. 'But you would be too kind in offering us the refuge of your own home.'

'Nonsense,' Paul retorted. 'We have plenty of room.'

Beleg looked at Hanna, who was biting her lip, and then across the table at Chantal, who narrowed her eyes slightly as she nodded.

'Then we shall esteem you for as long as we shall live,' said Túrin graciously, 'I hope that someday we can repay you this honour.'

* * *

><p>'<em>Then we shall esteem you for as long as we shall live<em>,' Andróg whined in a grotesque imitation of Túrin's voice. 'Neithan, why do you stoop so low to these people?'

'I do not see what else we can do,' Túrin shot back, his eyes narrowing. 'You would not want to be out in the cruel mercies of this world that Sauron assigned us to in the hopes of breaking us, would you?' He took a step towards the other man, bending over to look him directly in the eye. 'We do not have the strength to walk blindly into misfortune.'

'So you would have us stay with these _gracious hosts_ of ours who Sauron himself selected for our torments, kneeling and bowing and scraping before them like some common beggars?' Andróg scowled, his face crinkling hideously.

'Do not speak thus against your captain,' Beleg said, taking his place by Túrin's side. 'Do not challenge his judgment when you have no counsel yourself to give.'

Andróg paced quickly in the small room, which was a light yellow in colour with a reddish wood floor covered by a large wool rug died a vibrant red and spun with twisted, coloured flowers. 'You have not asked me for that counsel, how would you know where my mind and my heart lie?'

'I did not realize that you were not lacking in—' Beleg began.

'Beleg, sit down,' Túrin snapped, half-covering his face in dismay.

Startled, Beleg turned to him to protest.

'_Sit down._' Túrin's blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

Beleg sank down without reply onto the futon.

'What would you advise then?' Túrin asked. Turning to Andróg, he lay his hand on the man's arm.

'I would warn you to leave. We can take what we need tonight.' He glared up at the ceiling. 'We would not disturb _them_. They sleep on the floor above us, and we are very silent.'

'You would counsel me to steal from our hosts and rescuers? To go against my own honour and take that which does not belong to me from the very house that has offered us shelter?' Túrin shook his head. 'Andróg, you cannot ask that.'

Beleg would have bet his last arrow that he actually would have. In fact, if he had been paying attention (which he had) he would have been able to report that Andróg had indeed just asked Túrin to go against his honour and rob the house that had given him shelter. He glared at Andróg, and started to speak. Mîm stopped him with a rude whisper.

'It wouldn't be the first time.'

Andróg either didn't hear that remark, or he chose to ignore it. 'Than what should I ask? That you remain true to your _honour_ and _conscience_ and stay prisoner in the house of those that a great enemy has placed you in the hands of? Neithan, you cannot close your eyes to the truth forever. There are people in the world that you cannot trust.' He glared at Beleg.

'I know that,' Túrin answered. 'But that is not the only truth that I know, nor the one that I wish to answer to tonight.' He folded his arms firmly. 'Do you understand?'

'I understand your folly, but you know that I shall not leave without you. I can see that you have fallen under an influence that you should not have let into your heart.' He cast another sharp look at Beleg. 'Now you love that _liar_ more than any sensible man would ever love another.' He took a step forward. 'You should fear that love. It is too great.'

'Goodnight, Andróg,' Túrin said firmly, laying his hand on Beleg's shoulder.

Andróg glared a few more moments at the Elf and then shrugged. 'Goodnight, Neithan.' He cast a disdainful look at Mîm who sat curled up under a blanket in one corner of the room before sauntering out to the so-called Blue Room (which was in actuality purple, like the hall and stairwell) and shut the door tightly behind him.

Beleg kicked at the floor, feeling anger and embarrassment rush to his face in a hot blush. He looked up at Túrin. 'What say you to that?'

Túrin glanced behind him at Mîm, who was watching them jealously, and then took Beleg's head in his hands, holding it firmly up. 'I do not regret for a moment loving you.'

'And what of them?' asked Beleg, nodding towards the ceiling.

'I trust them.' He drew back the few blankets that had been laid over the mattress and slid under them.

Beleg sat on the edge of the futon (a strange piece of furniture that could stand like a bench or lie like a bed) his fingers aimlessly picking little pieces of lint off the top blanket.

'Lie down, Beleg,' Túrin murmured, reaching up to him.

He drew instead away, glancing towards the curtains that hung over the bay window. He turned the lamp off from the switch and drew the curtains back, looking up at the stars that glistened in the sky above the dark horizon and sleeping houses.

'Beleg, are you coming to bed?'

He did not answer. Mîm was still watching him: he could feel his eyes trying to bore through him. He shifted uncomfortably, straightened the elastic on the underwear he had been given after it was discovered they had nothing to change into after taking their showers. A shower – it was a good thing. The shirt he had on was too large for him, and it was falling off his shoulder. It smelt like soap. He smelt like soap. He closed his eyes. He could still see the stars shining.

'Beleg, come now, you are not planning to sit there like a sentinel all night are you?'

He sighed and lay down beside Túrin. 'I heard her scolding them,' he whispered as he settled down.

'What?' Túrin sounded tired in the dark.

'Hanna, I heard her scolding her daughters.'

'For what?'

'For letting us in.'

'Ah.'

'She's worried.'

'She has a right to be.'

'I know.'

He could hear another rumble in the distance. They were cars, vehicles, he had been told. Some form of transportation. There was another rumble from the ground as well. He had been told that that was the furnace. And the louder rumble from the cellar was the water-pump. And the buzz from the kitchen was the refrigerator. And the hum all around him was electricity from one device or another. And he _didn't_ need to worry in the least. Bright lights flashed over the walls as the rumble rose to a roar and another car sped down the road and out into the darkness.

'But you do trust them, do you not, Túrin?'

'Yes, I told you that.' He sighed. 'I do not believe that they mean us harm.' The eyes closed for a moment. 'But you see more in faces and hear more in voices than I ever shall. Tell me, what did you think of them?'

'The daughters think a lot. Elina, she was dreaming when we came. Chantal, she was scared…and joyful.' He smiled softly. 'She writes a lot. Did you see, her hand is calloused where she holds the pen.'

'No, I did not notice.'

'It is only slight.' He licked his lip thoughtfully. 'Hanna does not trust us. Not fully, not really. She fears for her children, for her house and her family.' He fell quiet, lost in his own thoughts.

The blue eyes searched his face. 'And Paul?'

'He does not fear us. I believe that he does not believe we will do him harm. He has had a hard life, and for that he is a hard man. His family fears him, but I do not know what he has done.'

The night ticked away the silence.

'He has been imprisoned.' He drew the blankets closer about him. 'Hanna and Paul were fighting about us.' He sighed. 'Their son is not well, but he has been loved despite it. They do not fear him, nor resent him for what he cannot help. But they are sad. It is a sad family.'

'Why are they sad, Beleg?'

'I do not know fully, I could only read it in their faces, hear it in their voices.'

'And you believe that they will not hurt us?'

'No, mine, they will not.'

Túrin did not reply to him; he lay his head closer, drawing his arms about him. 'I understand,' he said finally, but it was so quiet that it got lost in the small room. Beleg felt his warm breath on his face. It smelt like peppermint. He let Túrin snuggle against him as he always had whenever he was feeling a little chilly.

He sighed softly. 'Túrin?'

'Mmm?'

'Your feet are cold.'


	6. Then Túrin looked for companions

_'Then Túrin looked for companions willing to aid him in his peril.' – _J.R.R. Tolkien_, The Children of Húrin_

* * *

><p>Mîm awoke to strange voices. He started to turn to see what they were, but found, to his dismay, that he could not move. He struggled to no avail: he was fast stuck. A few more moments of recollection and thinking on his part led him to the discovery that he was a toy again. He would have groaned aloud, except that he was a toy so he could not. Of course, this led him to the obvious wish that he was not a toy so that he could groan. If he had continued this train out thought, he would have realized that if he had not awoken a toy, he would not have wanted to groan, so wishing that he were not a toy so that he could groan was inherently pointless. But our poor Mîm did not bother trying to think this through, so he was left with his understandable but inane longings as he started to listen to what the strange voices that had awoken him were saying.<p>

A few moments of listening, and he realized that this would be very difficult, simply because, even if he were allowed to hear by Morgoth's wishes, cloth ears were still not the best for that. And the speakers were whispering. To make matters worse, he could not see them.

He wished that he had not fallen asleep with his eyes shut.

'Is this all that you know then?'

That was Beleg; Mîm would have recognized the Elf's annoying voice anywhere. He could pretty much have been deaf, and he would have still recognized it.

Since he pretty much _was_ deaf, his point was proven. Unfortunately, that did not make Mîm happy. Mîm had never learned to count his blessings.

'Yes, that is all.' The voice was strange and female, very quiet.

Mîm rightly decided that it was one of the dreadful women that lived in the house; he did not like them at all. They seemed distant, and he was pretty certain that they had a good mind to be cruel and unfeeling. Also, he doubted they would know, like, or understand anything about Dwarvish customs. He tried to sneer at the voice before remembering he could not move his face.

In horror, Mîm wondered if he was smiling.

'Túrin?'

'And you are certain that there is no known way to return to where we came from?' Mîm actually liked Túrin's voice. He wondered why Túrin would not speak to him more often. It seemed dreadfully unfair that Beleg got all his attention. Beleg wasn't even that great, despite all his skills. He was an Elf; he could not possibly be. Besides, he had the irritating additions of being naturally flirtatious and liking raspberries, which lowered anyone in Mîm's book. Mîm was fairly certain that the only reason Túrin favoured him so was because he had a nice face. Mîm wanted to smash it.

'Yes, I am. Where you are from…it is not thought to exist.'

'I see,' Túrin said.

Mîm vainly wished that he could again.

'It would still be best for none else to know of where you came…' the woman's voice dropped too low for him to make out.

Mîm was about to curse his cloth ears, but he remembered in time that Dwarvish curses had an uncanny way of coming true. He cursed the woman's voice instead.

'It would be best if you told my parents that you wanted to move on; they would take you to the town of…'

Again, too quiet.

'Come to the university afterwards. I will be there. It is very hard to miss the school, and my parents will probably drive you past it; indeed, they will most likely drop us off there before taking you on. It is on the top of a hill, and the buildings are brick. Do you know what brick is?'

A quick pause. More mumbles.

'I will meet you at…'

'Where is that?' Túrin sounded calm, which Mîm figured was a good thing.

'Can you read?'

'I do not know if I can read your language, Chantal.'

'I find it strange that you can speak it.'

Oddly, Mîm heard the rustle of paper. He wondered why it was so loud.

'Can you read this?'

'Spring savings. Half off everything. Make sure to take advantage of this special offer. Roast beef, only…crossed 'S'…1.75 per pound. Grapes—' Túrin read monotonously before being cut off.

'Good. The buildings are all labelled. I am quite sure you will find it.'

'And if we…change before that?' It was Beleg again. Great potatoes, Mîm hated that voice!

'Perhaps you only change if you fall asleep. Perhaps it is after a time period. I do not know; that is a great concern. It might be best if we met earlier.'

There was an incredibly long pause, and Mîm felt himself be picked up gently. The arms were strong, hairy, and most definitely male. Túrin.

'You can join me at my English class. I believe you should still be…' There was a pause, probably necessary for figuring out how to say something politely. 'Non-toy. You can meet me in the hall of…'

Túrin jostled Mîm to his other arm, cutting off what she said. Now Mîm would not know. He hated that.

'Ah. My parents are getting up. I had best leave you; you shall eat breakfast with us, and then you should do as I told you. We can discuss our plans this evening.'

Mîm received a quick peck on his plush cheek, but he only caught the sight of straight brown hair whisking away before Túrin let out a cry and dropped the growing Dwarf.

* * *

><p>'This is where she said that she would meet us,' Túrin assured Mîm, looking around the long corridor; it was a dirty off-white, with strange rectangle lights spaced across the ceiling, and wavy orange benches shoved along the walls between the many doors. Students hurried back and forth down its length, shooting them strange looks once in a while.<p>

Mîm had already decided that cars were the worst invention anyone had ever thought of, and he was now trying to compare them with schools, which he was sure fit up there in the list somewhere. He stood close to Túrin, trying to avoid bumping into Beleg who was nearly pressed against the Man. He seriously thought something was wrong with the Elf.

'Here you are.' It was the quiet, female voice again.

_What a stupid statement_, Mîm thought. _Of course_ they were there. He wondered why Túrin would bother with this woman, who was quite obviously mentally inefficient.

'I am glad to see that you are all well.' She gave them a slight smile, which Mîm made certain he did not return.

'My sister is coming,' she said. 'We're trying to figure out if you can sit in on the class.' She looked over the four of them. 'There are quite many of you.'

Elina came walking up down the hall, her sneakers squeaking slightly on the tiles. 'Do you think they can?' she asked her sister.

Mîm decided that her voice was not as horrible as her sister's. It was easier to make out.

'I do not believe we have much of a choice. Class is about to start. If they can't, they can sit in the hall and wait.'

'Yes.' Chantal looked down at her wrist in sudden alarm. 'We're going to be late!' she exclaimed, pulling the sleeve of her cardigan back nearly over her hand.

Elina did not seem that concerned. 'He's usually five minute late himself,' she said.

'That does not matter in the least,' Chantal said primly. 'We have to go. It's 11.' She turned sharply around to walk firmly down the hall.

Mîm followed Túrin after her.

'You're late!' a male voice cried cheerfully, and Mîm looked up to see a grey-haired man in a blue coat, white shirt, red tie, tan pants, and black shoes smiling at the two women in the hall way. He waltzed happily into the classroom, and Chantal and Elina hurried in after him, Elina gesturing for them to follow.

'What was the point of this week's reading?' a loud female voice greeted them.

The grey-haired man ignored the question as he made his cheery way to the front of the classroom, looking slightly started as Túrin, Beleg, Andróg, and Mîm made their way in as well.

'Um, could, well, they're…' Chantal stopped speaking, as half of the class looked her way. The other half didn't seem to notice her, as they were too busy sharing their favourite children's shows on their ipads (they were wondering why someone's kids didn't like Bear in the Big Blue House and trying to convince a short blonde girl that she _had_ to watch Rollie-Pollie-Ollie or something like that or her life wouldn't be complete) or whispering to each other about projects that they hadn't done.

'Yes, Chantal?' the grey-haired man, who seemed to be a professor, asked.

'They…' She pointed weakly to Mîm and his companions. 'Can they watch the class.' She asked the question lamely, without any inflection in her voice.

'Yes, of course.' The grey-haired man fixed his attention on the four.

Mîm gave him a pointed glare.

'Are you interested in attending this school?' he asked.

'We might be,' Túrin answered evasively.

'I'm Garret Farrell,' he said, offering them his hand.

Túrin shook it firmly, and stood a little to the side so that Beleg could do the same. Mîm folded his arms over his chest, and Andróg shook Farrell's hand stiffly.

'Since no one is here,' said Farrell, looking ruefully about the half-empty room, 'you can sit wherever you like.'

Chantal gestured to the chairs near to where she and Elina had moved, although they had not sat down.

'By the way,' Farrell said as an after-thought, 'what are your names?'

'I'm Neithan,' said Túrin firmly.

'Túrin,' Beleg whispered under his breath.

'This is Beleg, Andróg, and Mîm.'

Mîm wondered why he was always listed last. If he had known that he was being listed last in a chapter that was being told mainly from his point of view, he would have been very angry. However, he did not know that, so he was simply annoyed, if you can call Mîm's annoyance simple. Which you can, by the way, but you would probably be lying or gravely mistaken.

Farrell's brow wrinkled for a moment; after that, his nose wrinkled. Then he rubbed his nose and turned to Chantal and Elina.

'Chantal,' he said very slowly, 'is this a joke?'

If Mîm had known that poor Chantal (who was feeling incredibly awkward and dreadfully uncomfortable at that point) had actually written her last paper on the relationship of Beleg & Túrin compared to that of Gilgamesh & Enkidu with references to David & Jonathan and Patroclus & Achilles, he might have understood why Farrell had said that. But he did not know, so he was extremely confused.

'No.' She sat down hard, looking slightly faint.

He looked from her, to her sister, to the four of them again.

'No?'

She covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

He nodded, but looked a little unconvinced. 'Very well then. Should we begin class?'

'No.'

Mîm started. He had just heard the word, but it sounded even worse then, perhaps because it was directed against authority. He glared at the offender.

Farrell sat down quite unperturbed; he seemed to think this was a normal occurrence. 'Why not?'

'We need to talk about that scholarship.' It was the same offender as before. A woman a bit older than most of the students who was wearing an impressive amount of heavy jewellery, but a second glance at it proved that it wasn't real at all.

A look of disbelief and fear spread over Farrell's face. 'We'll talk about that later, Heidi,' he said quickly, shifting with his papers.

'No. We need to talk about it _now_.'

Farrell looked about the class and gave a nervous laugh. 'What is there to talk about?'

'I don't think it was awarded fairly. You need to give more people a chance.'

With a cough, Farrell looked down at his desk and then up at the woman. 'Well…' he stammered.

Mîm looked at the clock. For an odd and unexplained reason, he knew how to read it. It read 11:09. It was 11:13 before the woman named Heidi and the man named Farrell stopped their discussion. And only then, it was because someone coughed almost onto Heidi's face and two others started a loud private conversation and some boy nearly fell asleep. That is when the class started.

'What did you think of the reading?' Farrell asked with a hopeful smile.

'It was pointless. Horrible. That guy was a wuss.'

'It was like reading Romeo's diary,' Heidi said.

'_Juliet's_,' a dark haired woman groaned.

'No, because Juliet doesn't have a thought in her head,' Heidi declared, almost slamming her ringed hand down on the table.

'True.'

'You didn't like Werther?' Farrell piped up, sitting a bit higher in his chair.

'He was so creepy, and he cried all the time.'

'What was with him and the kids? He was always kissing them; it was so weird.'

'I think something was seriously wrong with that guy.'

'I'm glad he killed himself.'

Heidi shook her head. 'No one should ever kill themselves. It leaves everyone they left behind miserable. It is the most _selfish_ thing that they could do.'

'Before this book,' Farrell managed to put in, 'there had never been a sensitive, leading male character.'

'We don't need sensitive men,' Heidi blurted. 'Women like manly men, not men who look and act like girls.'

Chantal coughed slightly, and Mîm turned to her. She straightened her blue skirt and said nothing.

'So you didn't like Werther?' Farrell asked again. Maybe he had forgotten he had already said; it was obvious they didn't.

'He was so _emo_,' Heidi moaned.

Most of the class agreed whole-heartedly.

'Do you remember what he was wearing when he killed himself?' Farrell asked eagerly.

There was a collective silence.

'A blue coat and custard coloured pants,' Farrell continued without really waiting. 'After the book was published, many people committed suicide in clothes like that. It was a big movement.'

'Who would want to wear custard coloured pants?' someone laughed.

'It got so bad,' Farrell continued, 'that another author went and wrote an ending where Young Werther decided at the last moment that he wanted to live. But Goethe said that it ruined his story.'

'Yeah, well, I don't really care if people like Werther kill themselves,' someone yawned. 'It will get them off the face of the planet.'

Chantal placed her pen down firmly on her desk, and Mîm saw that Elina had stiffened. The two sisters looked at each other, and Chantal gently touched Elina's arm. They said nothing.

'Well,' Farrell said. 'What about our group presentation?'

The group presentation was an acting skit called 'freeze.' People would act out the scene, and if someone wanted to take their place, they simply called out 'freeze' and replaced the character. More students had trailed in since the class began, so the room was by then quite full. Mîm felt dreadfully uncomfortable and wished that he could go crawl into a hole somewhere; it would make him feel much better.

Beleg pretty much had his mouth pressed to Túrin's ear and was whispering to him about something that Mîm could not make out. This made him most angry. He was very certain that Beleg liked being close to Túrin just to make him feel bad. Or maybe it was to make Andróg feel bad. Or maybe he was in love with him. Any way, he was evil.

Chantal and Elina actually looked rather excited about the idea, and Chantal was again nudging Elina's arm. 'You should play Werther,' she whispered. Elina shook her head.

Werther was being played by a girl with long hair on one side of her head, short hair on the other, a ring in her nose, and large glasses. Werther's love interest, Charlotte, however, was a boy who had stuck a sparkly pink bow in his curly hair and was wearing lip-gloss.

Mîm decided that school was probably a worse invention than automobiles.

He half-listened to them drone on about their love and fear and uninterest and such while the narrator, the short blonde girl who had been introduced to Rollie-Pollie-Ollie earlier, added things excitedly. 'He's such a creep!' 'Oh my god!' 'No, no, no! Stay away! Stay away, please!' And the waitress stood by and did…nothing.

The actors switched a few times, and Heidi was put up as Werther. She immediately turned the sweet, sensitive, artistic man into a cold, demanding, _man _man. 'I love you,' she said, 'and you had better get that into your head. I'm not going to take "no" for an answer. You see this cup?' She lifted a plastic cup that had been brought in for a prop. 'You touched this cup.' She kissed it.

Chantal sat up straighter. 'Freeze,' she said.

The skit continued. 'You touched this cup, so I'm rubbing it all over me.' Heidi began to rub the cup up and down her ample chest. 'It has you on it, and I want you. You're going to want me. I'm not going to leave you.'

'Freeze,' Chantal repeated, a little louder.

Another student sighed. 'Freeze,' she said firmly, and nodded to Chantal, who stood up and made her way with firm little footsteps across the grey-carpeted floor of the yellow room. 'I'm the waitress,' she told the girl who had been doing nothing, who went to sit down on her chair looking very relieved.

'You are going to be mine, and I don't care about your husband. He's a…'

'Excuse me,' Chantal cut Heidi off. 'What do you think you are doing? That cup is restaurant property and—'

'Do you know who you are talking to?' Heidi yelled. 'I am a _poet_! I was published in _Poet's World. _You have no right to talk to me like that, you little—'

'You might break the glass,' Chantal said firmly.

'She touched this cup,' Heidi told Chantal, who frowned.

Mîm was by then convinced of Chantal's stupidity. Why else would she have gone to set herself up like that? She was either an idiot, or a masochist.

'Could you get me a tequila?' Werther's love interest asked suddenly, and Chantal gave a little bob and moved to the chalkboard to shake chalk around inside of another plastic cup in the pretence of fixing a drink.

School makes people stupid, Mîm concluded firmly.

'Here you are,' Chantal said, placing the glass down.

'Werther' and his 'Charlotte' were having too deep of an argument to notice much. They were nearly shouting at each other about duty and love and husbands.

'Charlotte' downed the 'tequila' in one gulp, and set the glass down.

'You don't care about me!' she snarled at 'Werther.' 'You only want me because you can't have me!'

'I do love you, but you're not a poet, so you don't know the meaning of love,' Heidi shot back, placing both hands firmly on the desk and leaning forward to drive in her point.

Chantal snatched up the abandoned cups quickly and turned from the scene with a sigh of relief.

'My glasses,' the narrator chimed.

Mîm sighed. _It is going to be a long day_. Which was when he noticed something strange. Andróg was shrinking. Not only that, his skin was turning…plush.

Túrin and Beleg noticed at the same time that he did. Surprisingly, Beleg leaned over Túrin and pressed his lips to Andróg's cheek. The man kept shrinking.

Chantal gasped when she looked that way (along with most of the class) and ran across the floor before anyone else really had time to react. She leaned over the desk and took Andróg's head between her hands, kissing his forehead with her eyes closed. He quickly resumed normal form, and straightened himself out.

The classroom was silent.

Farrell made a slight sound resembling a squeak.

Chantal took a step back, pressing her hands to her white cheeks, which began to grow pink beneath her fingers.

'_What _was that?' Heidi asked.

'Uh,' Chantal said, scarcely opening her mouth. She looked so close to fainting that Mîm actually felt his spirits lift.

'Asthma,' Elina said, bravely coming to the rescue. 'He needs to go outside.'

And that is how Mîm found himself being ushered out to get his obligatory kiss. Which, he figured in the end, was the worst invention ever.

Well, those and plush toys.

* * *

><p>'So, you have to be kissed every five hours?' Chantal leaned back against the sofa of the student lounge and closed her eyes, counting to five silently.<p>

'Right.'

'By me?'

'Yes.'

'Except if you are kissed by someone else in between, in which case the time period is 24 hours?'

'Correct.'

Chantal opened her eyes again and turned to her sister. 'It's just me?' she asked, looking back.

'Yes.'

'I'm the only one.'

'Right.'

'And you know this because?'

'I suppose it is because Morgoth wants us to know it,' Túrin said quietly, going to look out the window.

Mîm wondered what lay out there, but he was too short to see, and he did not want to ask for help. It irked him.

'Yes, you do know a lot.' She ran her hand over her hair and started to tuck it repeatedly behind her ear.

'We must get back to our land.' Túrin said, starting as the soft drink dispenser stared to whine again. He looked at it warily. 'We must.'

'But you cannot leave me…' she whispered, but then nodded. 'Well, that makes things interesting.'

'You will help us?' Túrin asked, ducking his head to avoid hitting the smoke detector on the ceiling.

She nodded. 'Yes, but I'll have to bring you to Finland.' She smiled softly and wove her fingers together. 'Shall we discuss plans?'


	7. Secrecy is not finally possible

_'Secrecy is not finally possible.' – _J.R.R. Tolkien_, The Children of Húrin_

* * *

><p>Hello, the first thing you should know about me is that I am wicked. Yes, you know the word (there is no need to look so alarmed andor confused) wicked, evil, wrong, depraved, immoral, iniquitous, sinful, impious, _bad._ And you needn't get your head in a jumble over all those fancy synonyms either (although if you do, I really wouldn't mind) – they just mean the same thing. BEWARE OF ME. (And, yes, I can shout. I really couldn't care less if it gets on your little nerves.)

Now, the second thing you should know about me is who I am. To put it straight (which I don't always do) I am the Narrator. Yeah, you may be thinking: 'What? I thought the narrator was the person telling the story. And since you aren't…' Oh-ho-ho-ho, and then you realize that I am. Smooth move there, kid. Well, your point was sort of true; the thing is - I am The Narrator, with a capital 'N.' I know, I know, it's slightly over-used, but that's simply because I liked it so much I stuck it in all sorts of places.

You're probably wondering right now what exactly that means. After all, you might not have heard of The Narrator before. It would probably take me a volume of work competing with The Encyclopaedia Britannica to explain, and that would hardly do for a puny little story like this, so, I'll tell you the short version. I, The Narrator, am the single living force between thousands upon thousands of stories (many of which you have undoubtedly read). That's right, I'm the little inconspicuous scamp who somehow tricked the great Tolkien into writing a whole great work about destroying some silly golden ring simply because I was feeling in a rather sour mood about my marriage to Writer's Block (really, I have no IDEA what I was doing with that one). Heh, so yeah, it goes like this: I tell you what to write, and she, being her cranky self, tries to stop you. (It's all because she's out to stop me, that cantankerous pea-snapper, due to some jealousy or other over my har… comrades, those beautiful, lovely, darn-talented muses, although I haven't a clue as to why. Oh, yeah, I'm also the guy who keeps cute, innocent, (evil, rabid, beastly), _adorable_ plot bunnies as pets and gives them out to those who I think need to suffe…I mean, of course, my dearest friends.

So, now that we are done with those ghastly introductions, we'll move on. You see, moving on is pretty much my whole big deal. If it weren't for me, books would be intolerably long with everything (and boy do I mean EVERYTHING) written out for you to read and comprehend. Great Scot, when I think of Dickens – that man tried to rebel against pretty much my every rule on bringing things to the point. Just try writing out a day of your life (or pick up _Bleak House_), and you'll see what I mean. Yi!

But I just wasted exactly five hundred and five words on the introduction (pretty nifty, no?), and I haven't gotten on to what I'm about. This story is going too slow, so I, as the super-speedy Narrator, am here to speed it up. Now, where did those weirdoes leave you off? Oh, right, plans.

Suffice it to say, Chantal decided to drag them along to Finland with her with them as plush toys in her suitcase. As you might imagine, they weren't very happy. She argued. They argued. She argued. They… Yeah, this is pretty dull. How about I just put you there? Now, here we go…

* * *

><p>The sun was sinking low in the sky and the clouds that danced around it wer- (Whatever. Scenery is NOT important.) So, we find our dear friends in the rather bland student lounge trying to figure out what to do. How about we set it down somewhere towards the centre of the argument where things are picking up nicely, hmm? Not that you can argue with me…<p>

Chantal folded her arms. 'I don't think so.'

'You actually expect us to travel as toys crammed into your luggage?' Andróg asked sharply.

'I cannot really think of another way to bring you,' she answered calmly, biting her lip, but her hands twitched in her lap, betraying her nervousness.

'We could travel as you do – like beings with our own rights and privileges,' Andróg said coldly, his blue eyes narrowing.

She looked down at the hands on her lap and immediately laid them still against her knee, thinking perhaps that she could save herself from being caught as so weak. But there was no use by then; they already knew.

'No, I do not believe that we can travel as you have suggested,' said Túrin firmly. 'We shall have to try to travel as passengers.'

Chantal had already gone through the trouble of explaining to them what an airplane and passengers and luggage were, the poor dear, but they still would not trust her advice. Aw… (Just so you know, I do NOT feel sorry for her. I just find explaining things like this rather amusing.)

She shrugged. 'Do you have money or something to sell or pawn? You could try to get tickets, if you like. And then, once you have managed those, you could try to find a way to get aboard the plane without your passport – or I think you might actually have to have a passport before you buy tickets.' Pausing a moment, she tried to remember. 'Yes, we had to have a passport first since they asked for a passport number or something.'

'A passport?' Andróg repeated.

'It's…it's a document that shows what country you are from and who you are and that you want to travel and that you were allowed into a country if you get there,' she explained, trying and failing to keep her voice strong. It sounded as small as a dust mite on Jupiter. 'It takes a few months to get and you have to be a citizen of the country that you get the passport for, and you have to have a number showing that you are a citizen, and a birth certificate, and a photograph, and you have to sign it, and…' she dropped the pen she had started fidgeting with, since Chantal ALWAYS drops things when she is nervous. Anyone just getting to know her would think she is a real klutz. Sometimes I wonder.

Beleg bent to pick it up, deeming it the polite/well-mannered/all-things-unlike-rude-disgusting-outlaws thing to do, and handed it back to her, a frown starting to re-form on his lips. 'So, what you are saying is that – it would be nigh on impossible?'

As she took the pen back from him, she nodded. 'Kittos,' she whispered automatically, but her voice was too quiet and caught back for anyone but those with the sharpest hearing to pick up on. Chantal really has a problem with both her vocals and her languages. Sometimes I wonder how she is going to survive (not that I really care…).

Fortunately for her, Beleg was one of those with the sharpest hearing. As he went back to stand by Túrin, he bowed his head in answer. She gave a faint smile.

Túrin was weighing the words in his head. One of things about Túrin I find rather strange is his fascination with being silent for some time about things that should be important to him. He just likes to stand around and listen and judge, and then blurt out something when he's angry and do some sort of rash act. He's like a little volcano or something, I think. A little active volcano that looks so peaceful and scenic until it starts to erupt, and then, nothing can stop it. 'So we will have to travel as toys in your luggage.'

'Neithan, what are you saying!' Andróg demanded, taking him by the shoulder. 'We cannot allow ourselves to be crammed with feminine undergarments in a…'

'I shall put you in next to my shirts,' Chantal interrupted coldly, a rather bold act on her part, I might add. She looked at him indignantly, but glanced away immediately when he looked at her.

'Crammed with feminine _shirts_,' Andróg continued, 'slowly suffocating as…'

'We do not need air to breathe as toys,' Túrin answered him, nearly gulping on the last word. 'And what would you have? That we are left here to become and remain toys for our whole lives over?' He placed his hand over Andróg's, but the other man pulled his hand away.

'This is madness.' Andróg stormed over to the wind.

Beleg raised his eyebrows. 'You do not have to come.'

* * *

><p>Needless to say, it was settled that they would all be coming pretty shortly after that. Not too much of an argument there. Now, to continue:<p>

It turns out that Chantal had been dying to go to Finland for…take five (how old she was when last there) add an one (random number that has pretty much nothing to do with anything), multiply by seven (how old her sister was), divide by three point five (approximate age gap between her and her older brother), and you get twelve– which is how many years she has been waiting. Don't you just love mathematics? Anyway, since she had been waiting so long she had gotten it into her head that she was not going to turn down the opportunity to go to Finland and look after her baby cousin for about a month no matter how much it interfered with her school's schedule. Which pretty much meant spending most of the month of January trying to convince her professors (most of whom she had never met) to let her finish early and her parents that she was capable of travelling by herself and taking care of an infant. This might be why she barely remembers anything about January, but since it worked, she's pretty happy with the whole thing. Therefore, she wasn't going to let some people-plush toys interfere with her plans either – even if she didn't have any room in her suitcase.

* * *

><p>'I don't see how they're going to fit,' Elina said, looking down at the black suitcase, very large by Chantal's standards (and height). It was crammed already with clothing and toiletries – some for her and some as gifts for her relatives. The two of them were gathered in their small purple room (this might be the place to add that their father was rather obsessed with the colour purple, but I am not certain, so I am putting it in parentheses), having left the four should-be-fictional characters near the university, with the assurance that they would find them if they went exactly where they had been instructed to go when it came plush-toy-turning time. It seemed rather foolhardy, but that's what 'Tolkien' meant, wasn't it? It couldn't really be that bad.<p>

Muttering something about wishing she had gotten action figures, Chantal shook her head. 'We'll manage,' she said.

'We'll (I'll) manage' was one of her favourite phrases. She said it pretty much everywhere to everyone about everything. I rather think she's obsessed with figuring out ways to get hard tasks done – that and not getting in anyone's way.

She picked up one of the random stuffed toys that she had dragged into her room from the hall closet and threw it on top of a cream cardigan. 'There are only four of them,' she said, sounding markedly cheerful, after all, a difficult task lay ahead, what reason was there not to smile and look ready to sing about it? 'If we place Túrin here and put Andróg there and…' she paused, noting silently that there was no possible way the suitcase was going to close already. 'Hmm,' she took a step back and surveyed it with interest, her eyes nearly sparkling. 'Let's see…'

For a moment all was silent, and then Chantal yanked a few of the clothes out and threw them onto her sister's bed.

'Sunday,' she nearly chimed for no apparent reason. 'I'm leaving Sunday, Sunday. And today's…' she glanced over at the calendar, since she perpetually forgets dates, days, and the time. 'Wednesday. That means that tomorrow's my last day of school…and I still have a paper to finish. Well, two papers, actually. Or rather, one paper to finish and the other to write.' A warm smile crossed her face as she turned to her sister. 'Isn't it exciting?' She shut the suitcase cover on the messy clothes and cuddly stuffed animals. 'Yes, I think it should fit.'

'And that then is how you pack your suitcase?' Elina teased, tilting her head to one side.

Chantal shook her head, still smiling. 'No, I was just estimating. I'm going to pack on Friday.' Contentedly, she zipped the suitcase shut and hauled it to one corner of the purple room. 'We'll figure out something then.'

* * *

><p>Yes, well, that was rather lengthy for what I was planning, but no matter, I can do what I want. I am The Narrator, after all. And if you thought that was bad, you should see the length and description of the next chapter. Chantal really does not know when to stop writing, the poor… [This paragraph has been cut due to length and content, sorry for any inconveniencies – <em>Writer's Block<em>]


	8. You may die on that road

_'I will not speak softly: you may die on that road… But if you stay, you will come to a worse end…' – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin_

* * *

><p>Chantal looked at the clock. It read 8:21. The kitchen was quite warm, and she stretched sleepily. Having just finished baking a batch of lemon white chocolate chip cookies for her literature class, she felt ready to go to bed and sleep until the new day, but her history paper was still waiting to be written. She flipped randomly through the chapter, hoping something interesting would leap to her attention.<p>

Her mother stood by the sink washing the pots and pans that would not fit into the refrigerator. She worried about her daughter's unfortunate habit of procrastination. Chantal drummed her fingers on her keyboard, watching to see if any inspiration would strike. Of course not.

'Those cookies smell good,' Hanna said, turning off the faucet.

The timer beeped. The cookies only had five minutes left. How had so much time passed? With a sigh Chantal looked at the hastily written sentences that ran across her computer screen. She frowned and erased them all. This paper would never get done.

'They do,' Chantal said to Hanna. She turned the page of the history book. Nothing interesting. Nothing. There were times when she despised school. What was she supposed to write anyway? All the professor had said was 'Answer the questions asked by Strayer' – Strayer being the author of the history book. However, Strayer and Chantal did not seem to have any of the same interests. With a sigh, Chantal tried again.

* * *

><p>'What plate should we put them on?' Hanna, looking through the great pine cabinet where they kept the good dishes.<p>

The last batch of cookies had just come out of the oven, and the hands of the clock were reaching past nine in the evening. Having attempted perhaps seven or eight essays already, Chantal was feeling rather frustrated.

'I don't know,' she answered, running her finger over the title of another primary source, hoping against whatever bad fortune was following her that she would finally find something interesting.

'Something nice?'

'Okay.'

'I found the perfect plate,' Hanna announced suddenly coming over to the table a green and white plate in hand.

Chantal glanced it over. It looked like a replication of a woodcutting – a picture from a Dickens' novel: _The Old Curiosity Shop_, to be precise. 'That's very nice,' she said, handing it back to her mother with a smile.

Hanna took it to the counter and began to look for a cloth to go with it. Ignoring the hunger kitty chasing its tail inside her stomach, Chantal started to type sentence after sentence hoping that they would make sense in the end.

There were times when she despised her writing, and essays always brought those times out. The words were stiff and meaningless, it seemed. She sighed and got up to look at the cookies.

* * *

><p><em>'So, we have to talk about your wanting to leave.'<em>

_The hallway had been rather busy as it always was between classes. Chantal had been standing outside the door, waiting for her literature professor to finish speaking with someone else. Her hands clasped together, she had watched the other students hurry to the rooms they needed: too nervous to read _Sauron Defeated_, she had held it close to her and waited._

_Farrell had come out a few minutes later, only to be caught up again in another conversation with some other professors. Finally he came over to where Chantal stood by the wavy orange bench and said, 'So, we have to talk about your wanting to leave.'_

_Why did he have to say 'wanting?' Chantal had wondered, feeling that the word was a dread indicator that she couldn't. Why couldn't he just say 'your leaving?'_

_'Sit down,' he had said, sitting down himself on the orange bench._

_That wasn't good, she had thought. She had never liked being told to sit down. It always made her scared, like something very bad was going to happen. If the world were about the end she was sure someone would come up to her and say, 'sit down.'_

_She sat down beside him, feeling flustered and frustrated already. She had sent Elina ahead to eat since it had taken so long; already the hallway was becoming empty._

_'Yes?' she said softly, holding the book tighter, as if it somehow could protect her._

_'Well, there are certain things that you will have to do.'_

_She looked up at him for the first time, hopes rising. He had had said there were things that she had to do. That meant she could go. There was nothing that he could say that she couldn't do. Why, she could even learn to juggle flaming torches blindfolded if that's what it would take to get her to Finland! 'Yes?'_

_'You'll have to do all of your group projects,' he said slowly, 'and your papers before you go.' He paused. 'What did I have you do for papers?'_

_She fumbled for the syllabus, and he looked it over. 'So, there are only two papers. Well, you'll have to do those, and then maybe you should write something about _Things Fall Apart_, since you're going to miss it…' he had looked up towards the ceiling, thinking of what to say next. 'You should also do something to make up to the class for not being there. Say, bake a batch of cookies?'_

* * *

><p>The memory faded away as Chantal silently counted the little cookies lined up in neat rows on the wooden board set on the counter.<p>

Hanna handed her half of a lopsided cookie that was a bit too browned on the edges. 'Try it.'

Chantal took it. Trying it was probably a good idea, for it was a new recipe she had never made before. No matter how many times she told herself to always test a new recipe on yourself, your family, your closest friends, and/or your worst enemy, she always wound up using a new recipe for a special occasion at least every third time. It was a very bad habit of hers, like getting caught up in a story in her head and making violent sword swinging motions in public. She tried it. 'It's good.'

She glanced over with some annoyance to her computer sitting so innocently on the table.

She may have made the cookies, but she still had a paper to finish. Somewhere in the very back of her head, she wondered which was more important.

* * *

><p>Chantal didn't have time to find the four plush toys before Spanish, so she had to sit through the entire class wondering if they were all right. Not wanting to join the game of Twister® that one of the girls had brought in so we could learn colours and body parts (namely red, blue, green, and yellow, plus hand and foot and left and right), she spent most of the time (when she wasn't spinning the spinner that we passed around the room) fidgeting anxiously with her pen and drawing little doodles. Most people in the class if they had been paying attention to her (which wasn't likely) would probably have assumed that she had cramps from the faces she kept making, not that she was worrying about making sure that a bunch of plush toys that were really people that were really characters were safe.<p>

As soon as Spanish class was over, she hurried outside and raced to Powers Hall. To her relief, she found Túrin, Beleg, Andróg, and Mîm where she had told them to go – stuffed inside a cupboard that held some artwork inside and, more importantly, on top: it was the sort of place that hardly anyone ever looked.

It was actually rather amazing that they were in there, as the cupboard was not even big enough to hold two grown men comfortably. How they managed to squeeze into there without being seen and close the doors before all going plush was remarkable. But Chantal did not have much time to think about how remarkable it was. Instead, she gathered them all into her arms, trying not to think about the fact that they could still see and feel, and ran back as quickly as she dared to her classroom. She only dropped one once: Túrin.

She apologized a thousand times as she darted up the stairs to her classroom, and a hundred times as she lined them up on the floor near her desk.

'So, sorry,' she said again, placing her coat over them in the hopes that no one would notice them there. Then she picked up the plate of cookies.

'What are those?' asked one of her classmates, who had been talking to her friend.

'They're cookies,' Chantal said.

'Are they for class?' the girl asked.

'Yes,' she said, arranging the towel over them and placing them on Farrell's desk. 'He said that, since I was leaving, I should bake cookies for the class.' With what she hoped was a steady, not-nervous-in-the-least smile (it wasn't), she started back to her seat.

The girls exchanged incredulous looks before the one who had been speaking blurted, 'And you did?'

'Ah,' Chantal said in what could only be called half a gasp and half a laugh. 'Yes.'

* * *

><p>'Is then Finland?' Túrin asked the moment he could speak again. They were standing on the marshlands quite near Chantal's home: it was a place of mud; dead, choked weeds; and little, twisting creeks where the local people would fish for smelt in the springtime.<p>

'No,' she answered, 'this is still America.'

'Then why, may I ask, have we been brought here?' he asked with great calm, staring at her as if she were mad in her decision that he and his friends might like a chance to breathe and be human (and elf and dwarf) before she stuffed them for goodness knows how long into a suitcase with her clothes and things.

'I thought that…you might like to breathe,' she answered lamely, looking down at the brown, wilted grass that the snow and ice had left beneath it. In the summer, the grass would rise high to her waist and cut and scratch at all bare skin as it waved in the salty air, but now it lay strangled near the mud of the earth, smelling of salt and fish.

As if deeming it polite or honourable to listen to her request, the four of them stood around breathing the cold air in deeply in silence. It was one of the most unsettling sights she had ever seen in her entire life.

She sighed. 'Of course, you don't have to breathe if you don't want to…' she began, stopping when she realized how dreadful that sounded.

'And you would suggest that we do what, exactly, instead?' Andróg asked, every inch of him bristling; he had caught how it sounded as well.

'That…that came out wrong,' she whispered to the dead grass and folded her arms tighter.

* * *

><p>Cookies baked, papers handed in, friends farewelled, and bags packed, Chantal stood in the wooden kitchen, lacing her vintage-looking brown leather shoes.<p>

Her Border collie, Laurel, stood by her, sniffing her bags worriedly.

'I'll be back,' Chantal whispered, stroking her ears and kissing her.

As usual, Chantal was waiting uncertainly. There were times that her whole life seemed like waiting for others to decide everything that would happen. The decision then was whether she would go to Boston by bus or if her friend's older brother, John, would drive her down. Sighing, she looked at the clock. If they didn't leave in fifteen minutes, there was a good chance they wouldn't make the bus. John still hadn't called.

There was a rush out the door a few minutes later, a scramble into the car. It was her parents' perfect plan – don't plan ahead so that you'll be too busy to be emotional when the time comes for your daughter to leave. Even if Chantal had left her packing off for Friday, she had already been planned months before. Making out lists of what she'd need, finding what she could of those at the stores, making sure what she already had was in good condition. She had known three months in advance what she was going to wear for the flight. In other words, her parents embodied 'plan to be unorganised' and she stood for 'organised procrastination.' Somehow, they usually managed to function.

Ten minutes on the road John called to say he could drive her down – in three hours. They spend those three hours walking around freezing by the ocean and having lunch at a restaurant that sold next to nothing at very high prices.

Finally it was time to go. Chantal wondered what Túrin and the others had thought of the wait. It must be hard for them to be packed up in a suitcase. She walked down the to the car wondering how being in a suitcase would feel. Then she thought about how being cloth would feel. She stood there, touching the sleeve of her shirt, and frowning.

'Huh,' she said.

Paul shoved the suitcase none too gently into the back of the car. Chantal watched it nervously, suddenly realizing that they were going to be going along conveyor belts and through x-ray machines and being tossed and bumped and thrown around. She wondered if it could kill them.

Her mother was crying when she hugged her good-bye, as mothers are wont to do. Chantal hugged her, patted her on the back, and smiled.

Saying good-bye to Elina was different. She had been away from her mother before, but she had lived every single day of her entire existence with her sister by her side. They drove each other mad some days (particularly in the winter when no one could get out and there was nothing left to do), but she had a hard time imaging simply _being_ without her. The sisters held each other tightly for a moment and kissed each other good-bye.

Then Chantal slipped into the car, and they were pulling away. Chantal wondered what she was going to do about the others, and then nodded, decision made. Death was too high of a risk. She was going to have to carry them on.


	9. Out of that country

_And at once he led them away out of that country. _– J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Children of Húrin._

* * *

><p>There was a blinding light as Beleg was pulled from the suitcase. Chantal set him down on top of the suitcase next to Túrin.<p>

'Okay,' she said to them. 'You're coming along onto the plane with me because I don't want you to die by getting your neck snapped or something. Okay? I do not actually have enough time to let you be free for five hours. Okay?' She sighed. 'I might be able to free one of you in the plane. It's actually a six-hour flight to Iceland, I think, so you'd be plush again by the time we unboarded. But it depends. And it would only be one of you. Okay?'

The plush toys smiled up at her.

'Not that you can answer.' Chantal sighed and ran a hand through her hair, messing up her braid. 'I'm going to go through security soon,' she said and zipped the suitcase. She hit her face with her palm a couple of times. At this point, she looked kind of crazy.

'I can't take you,' she said after a moment. 'You're too big, and they'll kill me. Well, they won't kill me, but they won't let me take you.'

She paused. 'Wait. You'll be my carry on. Ha!' She put them onto the chairs standing by. 'I'm so smart,' she said opening her suitcase.

'Okay, let's see, I will make this into a bag.' She held up a cardigan. She frowned. 'No, I'll just…carry you.' She took her camera out of her carry-on bag and placed the carry-on bag into the suitcase.

'There. Now you can come.' She looked through her purse. 'I've got everything.' She lifted them all up under one arm, grabbed the suitcase by the handle, and went over to the check-in.

The suitcase was carried away by a conveyor belt and disappeared. Chantal carried the plush toys through the line to security.

Beleg felt himself placed on a conveyor belt, and then he was moved upward along it through a machine. He could hear Chantal whispering, 'please don't ruin their vision, please don't ruin their vision,' and then he was out on the other side. Chantal picked them all up, carried them away, and placed them down on the floor. She pulled her shoes back on and laced them.

'Ninety minutes until the flight,' she said. She brought them to a big window looking out over a vast expanse of cement. Aeroplanes rolled across it. Orange lights shown down.

'Those are aeroplanes,' Chantal told them. 'They're what we are flying on.' She sat down cross-legged next to them.' She tapped her fingers on her knees. 'They're pretty safe, in case you were worried. Um… I don't know what to say. I guess I could tell you a little about myself.' She blew breath out between her teeth. 'I don't like one-way conversations. Um… you know my name. You met my family. You saw my school. …I think I'm out of things to say about myself.'

A plane idled slowly by. 'I did mention you are fiction here. That means that there's a book published about you. Everyone thinks it's fiction. But that's okay. It's cool to be characters from a book. I mean, you don't have to worry about it. Just don't tell anyone.

'I really don't have to talk. I think I'm going to read. You can think. Thinking's good.'

She reached for her carry-on before realizing she had put it in her suitcase. 'Oh,' she said. 'I don't have my book.'

* * *

><p>Ninety minutes later they were boarding the plane. Chantal carried Mîm and Andróg under one arm and Beleg and Túrin under the other. She silently found her seat and sat down.<p>

'I have a window seat.' She buckled herself in and then arranged all of them on her lap so that they could look out the window. She even held Mîm up so that he could get a good view.

Suddenly the ground beneath them started moving. They were rushing along the runway, and then the ground was getting smaller. Lights hovered beneath them in a strip.

'Oh,' Chantal said. She held them up closer to the window. Lights were sprawling beneath them in clusters that moved out like spider legs from the centre of light.

Slowly the lights faded away from beneath them, becoming scarcer and scarcer until there were none and only darkness lay beneath them.

The two middle-aged women sitting beside them soon began to snore. People were nodding off to sleep all around them.

Chantal placed the plush toys on the floor in front of her. She lay them out. 'You can sleep,' she told them. She glanced at her watch. 'I think we have time.'

Beleg found himself being lifted up. Chantal moved carefully past the two sleeping women and went to the small bathroom on the plane. She held Beleg at arm's length, and then kissed him and held him back out again. His legs dropped to the floor, and he was soon standing, breathing in the stuffy air of the bathroom.

'Okay,' said Chantal. 'I turned you back because you seemed the most reasonable.

Beleg smiled. 'I wonder what gave you that impression.'

'There are lots of things that you need to learn,' Chantal said. 'I don't have much time to teach you. I needed you to be ali…um…responding…so that you could ask questions.' She looked around. 'It's cramped in here. So, things. Humans here don't see Elves, so your ears are a bit of an oddity. As is your face, but sometimes people wear fake ears, so that's not too much of a problem.'

Beleg nodded.

'You could try wearing makeup to downplay your good looks,' she said. 'Just a suggestion. All right, the sword isn't considered normal, but I doubt you could get Túrin to stop wearing it. Don't ask me if wearing it is legal or not; I have no idea.'

Beleg nodded.

The plane jolted. Chantal held herself steady on the sink.

'You need to wash your hands before meals,' she said. 'You have to use money to buy stuff: you can't barter. You have to keep a low profile because you don't have any identification. You need to come up with fake names. What else?' She looked up at the plastic ceiling. 'Oh, do you have any questions for me so far?'

'How do we get money?' Beleg said.

'Normally you have to work for it,' she said. 'But you kind of need identification for that. Are any of you brilliant at forging?'

Beleg shook his head.

'Blast.' She sighed. 'Okay. Here.' She reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic card. She held it up for him to see. 'This is my debit card. It allows you to withdraw money from my bank account. You need to use this for food and emergencies.' She handed him the card. 'To use it you can go to an ATM or use it at a store checkout. You swipe the card and then enter the pin number.' She got out a piece of paper and wrote down the pin number. 'Memorize this and then destroy the paper.'

Beleg took the paper and memorized the pin in a couple of seconds. 'Okay,' he said, and then tore the paper to shreds.

'There is a limit on the amount of money in that bank account,' she said. 'You can't go over it because they'll fine you, but it should be enough to keep you alive.'

Beleg placed the card carefully in one of the inner pockets of his vest. 'Thank-you,' he said. 'Although you must know that I do not hold you responsible for our fate.'

Chantal sighed. 'You might not, but I do. I am a very, very, very responsible person.'

The plane jolted again. Beleg held himself steady easily, swaying with the jolting. 'Indeed,' he said, 'you must be.'

'Are you responsible?' she asked.

'Yes, I try my best to be.'

'Is Túrin responsible?'

'I think,' said Beleg, 'that you are already aware of the answer to that question.'

She nodded. 'Well, you take care of that card then.'

There was a knock on the door.

'Occupied!' Chantal called quickly. 'Okay,' she whispered. 'Someone's outside the door, so we have to be quiet. Are there any other questions you have right now?'

'None of grave importance,' he answered.

'All right.' She nodded. 'We ought to go then. There's only one bathroom on this plane.' She washed her hands, and Beleg followed suit.

'Brace yourself,' she said and opened the door.

Beleg followed her out past an old woman with a disapproving face.

'Oops,' Chantal said.

'What is it?'

'I forgot that you will now need a place to sit.' She ran a hand through her hair. 'How did I miss something that important? Ai…'

Beleg stood behind her awkwardly in the narrow aisle. Chantal was looking around the packed plane.

'Ugh,' she said. 'It's a good thing you're skinny.'

She walked back to her seat. 'You sit down first.'

Beleg carefully moved past the two still sleeping women and sat down. Chantal squeezed in next to him.

'You can do that Elvish thing of willing yourself not to be seen, right?' she said.

Beleg nodded.

'Okay, good. If someone looks this way, do that.' She leaned back against the seat and buckled them both in.

Beleg bent down and lifted the Túrin toy carefully from the floor. He cradled him in his arms.

Chantal took out a pair of ear buds from her purse. 'Do you want to watch a movie?' she asked. 'Or do you have more questions? No, you know what? We still have five hours. Watching a movie will actually give you a better idea about the world, so we'll do that.'

Beleg watched as she tapped the seat in front of them to select a movie. He looked back down at the toy that his friend was trapped as. He wondered if he was sleeping, and if he was well. He stroked his soft plush hair.

'Not action because that's unrealistic,' Chantal was murmuring. 'Not horror because…no. Crime, maybe. Not sci-fi. History, no. Not cartoons. A documentary might work, but there's nothing here about people. I could use a romance. That's usually more about regular life.'

Beleg guessed quite rightly that she was talking about what type of movie to watch. Little did he know that she was deciding to make him watch a romantic comedy, which, while being unrealistic, focused a great deal on modern people using their modern things. He also did not know that being forced to watch romantic comedies was an ordeal that most men only had to endure at the hands of their wives or girlfriends. He also did not know that the idea for using a romantic comedy as a learning tool was laughable.

But Chantal had never been phased by other people's notions of what was educational or not, so picking out a romantic comedy she was. This would cover lots of important aspects of modern life: food consumption, cell phones, television, transportation, purchasing clothing, relationships, jobs, possibly schooling.

'We're watching _My Best Friend's Wedding_,' she announced. 'Here.' She put one of the ear buds in Beleg's left ear and put the other in her right ear.

Beleg watched the screen on the back of the chair. The movie was now playing. It had women in long dresses singing about how to win over a man.

'Is winning a man an important aspect of your culture?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Chantal. 'People are always complaining about being "single", which means that they don't have a romantic partner.'

'Are women considered failures if they are not married?' he asked.

'No and unfortunately yes. Marriage is a big expectation, but if a woman is successful in another aspect of life, then she would not be considered a failure.'

'Are you in a relationship?'

'No, I am not, and I never have been, but it doesn't bother me.'

'Is that considered a rude question to ask?'

'It's usually only something you ask if you are someone's friend or relative or if you are interested in being in a relationship with the person you ask.'

The next scene had a kitchen and people eating.

'What's that?' Beleg asked.

'It's a restaurant. The chefs cook the food, and the customers buy and consume it. That is a waiter. He brings the food to the customers.'

'Why is she important?' he asked, nodding at the woman eating at the restaurant who had curly red hair.

'She is a food critic. She will give the restaurant a bad or good review, which can help or harm its business.'

'Ah.'

By the time the movie was over, Beleg was sure he had worn Chantal out with his questions. She was nodding tiredly.

'Jell-o is a desert made by using gelatine to solidify water, juice, and sugar. Crème brûlée is a fancy desert made from eggs, sugar, and cream. It is normally served with a layer of crystallized sugar over it. I've actually made that before. It was good.'

'Can we wake Túrin up?'

'No.'

'Are you going to go to sleep?'

'No, I can't. I'm too light of a sleeper.'

'What if I said I would guard you?'

'I still couldn't sleep.'

The plane hummed. Beleg looked out the window. There was a touch of colour on the horizon.

'Do I get to be real on the next flight?' he asked.

'No,' she said. 'It's only three hours.'

* * *

><p>They spent the rest of the flight exchanging information about the culture of the world. Beleg absorbed all the information quickly, hoping that Túrin was conscious and learning as well.<p>

Chantal looked out the window. 'Look,' she said.

The plane was sweeping over an island. The land lay green and brown below them coming up out of a blue sea. The waves rippled. Beleg thought of jell-o. He wondered if it looked like that.

The plane veered sharply to the right; his stomach lurched. Chantal fell against him. People around them were waking.

Suddenly Chantal looked down at her watch in alarm. 'We're landing,' she said. 'But you have another hour. I must have miscalculate somehow.' She frowned.

They plane became straight again, and then turned back to the right. The right wing was pointing down towards the land. Beleg's ears popped. He held the Túrin toy tightly.

'We should be fine, though,' Chantal said. 'They aren't going to check your passport or boarding pass or anything when you get off. I hope.'

The two women beside them woke up, and Beleg willed himself not be noticed. Nothing came of it, and they were soon getting off the plane, jolting and bumping against other passengers as they made their way down the aisle.

They went out through a long tunnel with windows that made Beleg feel like he was trapped in a cave and out into a building shine brightly with light coming in from many windows. There were pictures on the walls. Beleg looked out the window at the brown land and the mountains rising on the horizon.

'It looks like home,' he said.

Chantal nodded, but she was looking ahead with worry. 'They're going to stamp our passports,' she said.

'I do not have a passport,' said Beleg.

'I know,' she said. She looked at him. 'You have brown hair. Well, brownish.'

Beleg frowned. 'So?'

She held up her passport. 'They stamp it for me. I drop it on the floor and kick it back to you, okay?'

Beleg frowned.

'But in the direction of another passport stamper.'

Beleg looked at the three booths. They had an edge over the counter blocking the view of the floor.

'You go to other stamper, and you act like you drop your passport. But you really drop this.' She took out an address book from her purse. 'Pick up the passport I kicked out you, and use that.'

'I could not pass for you,' Beleg said with a laugh.

Chantal pointed at the floor. 'Sit down.'

Beleg knelt down on the floor. She took out the hair tie from her hair and pulled his hair up on top of his head. She twisted it around a couple times and tucked it under into a messy topknot. Then she took off her coat. It was cream coloured and had little ruffles on the front. She pulled that over his shoulders. It barely fit.

'There,' she said. 'They see a million people every day, they're not going to look twice at you.' She glanced around to see if anyone had been paying attention. It didn't seem like anyone had.

Beleg shrugged. This really seemed to be the worst idea he had heard since Túrin had told him he wasn't going to eat vegetables because they made him sick and suppressed his immune system.

'Yay,' Chantal said.

'It says in your passport you're 5' 1".'

Chantal wrinkled her nose. 'So, bend your knees a little. I'm running out of ideas, and I've got another plane to catch in an hour, so we have to get through.'

Chantal went first. Her passport was stamped, and she walked through the gate, dropping her passport behind her and kicking it backwards with her foot to the right. It lay on the floor, the gold on the cover gleaming upwards.

Beleg stepped up to the booth.

'Passport.'

Beleg reached into his pocket for the address book. He dropped it and then bent and picked up the passport. He picked up the address book too since he thought it would be inconsiderate to lose it, and Beleg was very adamant about being considerate – especially when it would make him look better than the outlaws.

He put the passport down on the counter. The border control attendant opened it and glanced at the picture. He then opened it at random in the middle and stamped it.

_Bam._

He pushed it back at Beleg.

'I hope you had a good flight.'

Beleg hurried through the gate and found Chantal. She took her passport back and looked at her watch.

'We're safe for a while still,' she said. 'But that was probably the worst idea of my life.'

She found a bench by a window and set the plush toys on it facing the window so that they could enjoy the view.

Beleg sat down next to them and put Túrin on his lap. 'We're going to go back in the suitcase after this next flight,' he told Túrin. 'But only for a short while, and then we will be at the house of her uncle. We shall see where the road takes as thence.'

He stared out at the fields and mountains until his body started to feel funny, like his insides were turning to cotton, which they probably were. (Actually, they were turning to polyester, but small technicalities like that are only worth mentioning in parentheses.)

'Chantal,' he said. 'I am changing.'

Chantal hurried him to the ladies' room and had barely pulled him into a stall before his legs were shrinking and his hands freezing, and everything about him was soft. Chantal picked him up.

'Okay,' she said. 'This shouldn't be that long. I promise.'


	10. Is it farewell, then, son of Húrin?

_'Is it farewell, then, son of Húrin?' _– J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Silmarillion_

* * *

><p>'That wasn't long? Are you stupid, joking, or a liar?' Andróg glared at the maid who had dragged them through hell. She must be in league with evil. Sauron and she were probably conspirators. After all, she had some power over the curse.<p>

'You got to watch the ocean,' Chantal said, as if being arranged to look out over the sea and the lands they were flying over somehow made up for all they had been put through.

Andróg frowned and rubbed his back. He noticed a new bruise starting up on his arm. 'That is hardly payment for our endurances.'

'I could have left you as toy at home to be eaten by my dog.'

'Andróg, be quiet,' Túrin said. He turned to Chantal. 'We are still indebted to you.'

Andróg scowled. They were in Finland now, wherever that was and whyever they had to be there. The girl wanted to drag them halfway across the earth it seemed. There was probably some cruel fate waiting for them from here.

He frowned at the tall trees and the blue and white sky. A bird sung somewhere nearby, and he could make out the rumble of those…car things…that everyone liked to travel around in. Well, that did make sense. After all, they were faster and warmer than horses. He had ridden in one while still a…he tried not to think of the word, for the very idea that he had been a toy made him shiver all over. Even from inside the suitcase, he could tell that they had travelled many miles in that car.

That girl was smiling at them as if the best thing in the world had just happened. He groaned slightly and turned away. They were standing on a dirt path that ran through a small wood. He could see a field in front of him filled with small gardens and a few people milling about with gardening tools, hot in the spring sun.

'Hmm,' Mîm grunted; he was standing quite close to Andróg, but he stepped away before the man had a chance to. Andróg glared down at him and stepped closer to Túrin, who also looked dazed.

'Well, I hope you'll like it here,' the girl said, nodding firmly and taking a step away from them. 'And I hope you remember what I taught you. There's a city that way.' She pointed vaguely behind her. 'Some sort of store that way.' She pointed vaguely to her right. 'And…well, there's not really that much else that I know about.' She shrugged and took another step away. 'But you like wandering, I'd presume?'

'Rather,' Túrin said, a little dryly. He scratched at his neck where his beard was growing back in.

'I'm so happy to hear that.' She looked around her again and sighed contentedly. 'Well, you can find me here around this tomorrow when you're due for your kiss. Remember, you'll need another one from someone else within five hours, or you're plush again, so I'd suggest you find very affectionate girlfriends. Quickly.' She blinked, as if considering if her senseless words made any sense at all and smiled again. 'Okay?'

'I do not understand why we must be kissed so often, or why it was a kiss that our enemy proclaimed as the cure for our state and our misfortune.' Túrin sighed heavily.

Andróg nodded his agreement to his captain and folded his arms. It did not seem like something that a dark lord would think of. The only reason he could imagine that it would be the requirement was that it was so very hard to find someone willing to kiss you.

'I don't know either,' the girl said. 'Kisses come up a lot in fairy tales to break curses, but why Sauron or Morgoth would demand that…' She did not smile after that.

'We thank-you again for your kindness to us,' Túrin said, and Andróg managed to stifle his sigh. 'We shall meet you then in the morrow.' He bowed and ushered his companions on down the path.

'Wait!' Chantal called after them, rushing up behind them. 'I forgot: Can you speak Finnish?

They stopped and turned back to her.

'Finnish?' Beleg repeated.

She nodded. 'The language of Finland. Finnish, Suomi.' Biting her lip, she thought for a moment. 'Minun nimeni on Chantal.'

'Sinun nimesi on Chantal?' Túrin said coolly. 'Tiedan.'

Chantal's face fell. She looked absolutely indignant. 'Koira.'

'Dog.' Túrin said in English.

'Cat.'

'Kissa.'

'Tuo on puu.'

'That is a tree.'

'The sky is blue.'

'Taivas on sininen.'

'You know it.'

'I would presume so,' Túrin said softly, looking not in the least proud of his accomplishment.

'So you mean that you know, without studying, my mother's language which I have been trying to learn for the past _forever_?'

Túrin looked to Beleg before answering. 'I suppose that is what I must believe.'

Chantal waved her hand at the others. 'And you?'

'I understood everything that you were saying,' Andróg said smugly. Beleg and even Mîm nodded their understanding.

She looked dejected and muttered something pointless about life not being fair. 'I guess you'll do fine then.' With a determined nod, she waved at them. 'Good-bye then, I'll see you tomorrow.' And with that, she turned away and walked back down the small path, only pausing once to turn back and warn them to look out for nettles. And then, she was gone.

Andróg sighed with relief. 'We're free,' he said, stretching his hands above his head. He gave a grunt as his back stretched from its cramp and swung his arms heartily.

'But we are still bound to that maid,' Túrin said solemnly.

'Oh, Túrin. Forget her.' Andróg pointed to the fields were the people were working. 'There is farmland and forest. A city nearby. What more could we ask for?'

'Freedom from a curse?'

Andróg started to answer, but was quickly interrupted. A person on a very strange two-wheeled vehicle resembling a cross between one of those metal automobiles and a very small pony whisked past them, sending a breeze with it. Andróg stepped away from it, colliding into Túrin. Another zipped by.

'Polkupyörät' Túrin said after a moment. 'Hmm.'

* * *

><p>'Where then are we going?' Andróg asked as he trudged along beside Túrin. They were walking on the side of the main road, where cars drove. This road was not made of dirt but of hard pavement. They walked on pavement as well, closer to the houses, while polkupyörät whisked happily by them, also on the sidewalk, but in a different lane, closer to the automobiles.<p>

'To the city.' Túrin touched the hilt of his sword. 'She said it was in this direction.'

Mîm made a slight grunt of disproval. Andróg felt fairly certain that Mîm was going to make a run for it sometime. It was not as if the dwarf wanted to stay with them. And there was really nothing about the cars or the city that would appeal to him. Andróg kept a close eye on him. He thought that it would be a very good deed to chase him back before Túrin (preferably on his knees) when the dwarf did make a bolt. Mîm glared at him again.

A beautiful blonde woman in a short skirt and a grey cardigan walked past them, heading in the opposite direction. Her dark blue scarf flitted behind her in the wind. Andróg let out a low whistle. She ignored him completely as she walked on. Andróg turned to the others.

'Keep your thoughts to yourself,' Beleg hissed. 'But you should know that is a rude and vulgar thing to do.'

Túrin did not look as if he had noticed in the least. He was examining the sidewalk and the surrounding area in turn as they walked, keeping up a brisk pace. 'Is this then the city?' He asked Beleg as they neared what appeared to be a cluster of shops. He pointed a finger to a low building with S-market written on it. 'That is a market.'

'I believe, from what I have heard, that the city we are approaching is larger.' Beleg frowned at the buildings thoughtfully.

'We shall then go on,' Túrin decided. 'For I wish to see what measure of land we are now in, and I desire also to know who rules it and if there is anyone good and wise, skilled in magic, who we can entrust our secret to in the hopes that there is a way to return to that good land we call our home.'

And so they walked. It was not as if Andróg did not like walking (he was, in fact, very good at it from many, many years of being a despised, walking outlaw), but he did not particularly like to walk where they were walking. With Beleg and Mîm. It was not the endless rows of houses that he minded or the whir of the buses as they went by that bothered him. It was the constant jostle of Beleg's arm against his or Mîm's shoulder against his hand that irked him. It was how ridiculously out of place they looked as they strolled down the streets. It was how Túrin's sword kept getting strange glances. They did not belong.

'We cannot go to far, Túrin, until we have found someone who will kiss us. Or else we will be lost,' Beleg whispered.

'I know that, Beleg. And yet I would go as far as I could. Perhaps we shall find someone in our wanderings. I still have hope that we shall discover a being whose power can return us to our previous state.'

* * *

><p>'Five hours will soon be passed,' Beleg warned Túrin. They were still walking.<p>

'And what then?' Túrin looked up at the sky.

'In all likelihood some pedestrian would take us home, mistaking us for toys,' Andróg grumbled.

'Actually, we _would _be toys,' Beleg said smugly.

Andróg glared at him. 'I have never been a toy in my life. Although I am quite certain that _you_ might be called—'

'Andróg.' Túrin's look said more than a hundred words could. 'Enough of that.'

Digging his hands sullenly in his pockets, Andróg curled his lip at Túrin's back. He muttered a curse as a bus rumbled past them.

'Túrin, our time is almost spent.'

Beleg could be damn relentless when he wanted to be.

'I know. What would you have me do about it?'

'Something…'

'Why do we not ask the next passing maid for a kiss?' Andróg suggested.

Beleg scoffed. 'And do you think a maid who knows us not would kiss one of us just at our asking?'

'I didn't say just one of us,' Andróg muttered. 'I was hoping she could do the whole lot.'

'And why do you not then ask?' Beleg said.

'I think that I shall.' Andróg looked about. There were no other pedestrians in close range.

'I believe that you will find yourself an outlaw here if you solicit a stranger for a kiss,' Túrin said. 'I do not think, from what Chantal told us about this land, that it would be a wise move.'

'So what do we do, Túrin?' Beleg said. 'We have thirteen minutes and no way of saving ourselves.'

'We should not have gone so far,' Mîm said, speaking up for the first time in a couple of hours. 'That,' he wrinkled his nose, 'human won't be able to find us out here.'

'We need to reach the main city,' Túrin said firmly.

'We have twelve minutes.'

'Beleg, please. I…'

Beleg widened his eyes for a moment and then grabbed Túrin by the shoulder.

'Beleg, what are you…'

'Hello, miss,' said Beleg to a woman walking by with a smile so dazzling that Andróg was sure even he would have kissed the elf had he asked. 'I was wondering if you might do me a favour. You see, my friend here.' Beleg gave Túrin a cute, little pout. 'Has never been kissed. And I thought what a sad life he must have. And I was wondering, if I could take a steal a moment of your time, you might steal a kiss from him.' He fluttered his lashes adorably. 'Hmm?'

The elf must have cast a spell on the grey-eyed woman because she gave Túrin a quick peck on the lips without another question.

'Thank-you,' Beleg said sweetly. And she kissed him too. Without him asking. Beleg bowed and turned away. 'Run,' he said.

Andróg didn't ask. He just ran with them. They stopped two streets away.

'That was a bit of magic, was it?' Andróg asked.

Beleg shrugged.

'You didn't help me.'

Beleg shrugged again.

'What do you plan to do for me?'

'And Mîm?'

Andróg hesitated. 'If you want to do something for him.'

'Nothing.' Beleg continued to walk.

'What do you mean nothing?'

'I mean nothing. You have seven minutes. When they're up, we'll carry you. Chantal can kiss you awake after that.'

'What do you mean, you Elvish sneak?' Mîm growled.

'We risked a lot by what I have already done,' Beleg said. 'Túrin would agree with me on that.'

They all looked at Túrin. He was standing in shock, touching his lips with curious fingers.

'What's the matter with him?' Andróg demanded.

Beleg shrugged for a third time. 'He's never been kissed before.'


	11. Deeds of war

_"Nonetheless he would not wholly leave deeds of war;" _– J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Silmarillion_

* * *

><p>Túrin picked Mîm – plush again – off the sidewalk and tucked him carefully under his arm. He let out a sigh. 'Well, we are set for those twenty-four hours again,' he said. He looked at Beleg. 'Thank-you for that.'<p>

Beleg nodded coolly and lifted up the toy version of Andróg. 'He looks cuter like this,' he said.

With a roll of his eyes Túrin continued in the direction of the city. He wondered how long it would be before they got there, or if they were simply lost. He felt the sword swing at his side and was grateful that Beleg had let him carry it, even if it was Beleg's. He felt safer with a sword.

'I wonder what the others think of us,' Beleg said. 'Do you think that they might believe we are very strange here?'

'Most likely.' Túrin looked around again. 'We dress nothing like these people, and I do not see weapons on them. It is a very different society than those that we have known.'

'Indeed.' Beleg turned around as he walked, surveying their surroundings. 'Do you see those tall buildings over yonder?' he asked, pointing with his hand.

Túrin turned and looked in the direction that he was pointing.

'It could be that those are the city for which we are searching!' Beleg exclaimed. 'Do you wish to head in that way?'

'Yes, I think that would be wise,' Túrin said.

Another half hour of walking brought them to the seaside. There was a harbour with grey stone and a few boats, a couple of ships, and people walking about, mostly silent.

Túrin surveyed the area. It looked very much like what he would have imagined a harbour city to be. A boat made its way to a docking area, and he watched as people boarded it.

'Beleg,' he said. 'Is this then the ocean?'

Beleg nodded. 'Yes, indeed, Túrin,' he said. 'It is the ocean.' He looked down at the waves lapping against what seemed to be the side of the street. It was like a square that just disappeared into the water, straight down. Túrin looked down with him. 'So this is the city of which we were told,' he said. 'Come, it is time to find who rules it and see if there is any way to re—'

He froze as Andróg fell. Beleg gasped and then dropped to his knees, reaching down to retrieve the toy – the man. He bobbed in the water out of reach, that persistent smile on his face, but he was getting heavier as the water leached into his plush skin. The smiling face was slowly going under.

'He is going to drown! What have you done?' Túrin cried as Beleg reached out another time.

Beleg did not answer him. The Andróg-toy was sinking quickly now. He jumped off the stone and into the ocean. It was quite a fall before he hit the water. He went under and came back up again.

'He is there!' Túrin said, pointing.

Quickly Beleg snatched the Andróg toy from the waves. He swam back towards Túrin and pushed Toy-Andróg up to him. Túrin dropped to his stomach to grab it. He threw it down beside him and reached his hand down to Beleg. Beleg clawed his way up the side until he could reach Túrin's hand. Túrin dragged him up and rolled him onto the ground beside him.

'What happened?' he gasped, ignoring the small crowd of onlookers who had gathered.

'The wind,' Beleg said. 'I'm sorry. It knocked him out of my arms.'

Túrin looked down at the soggy toy beside him. 'He wasn't under long enough to drown,' he said.

'Do you think that he could drown in that state?'

'I do not know. It is better to take precautions.' He stood up again. 'Besides, he could have been lost at the bottom of the sea. How deep do you think it is?'

Beleg looked down at the water. 'I could not say. It is deep though.'

Without another word, Túrin gathered the soaked Andróg-toy into his arms and started across the square towards the buildings on the other side. Beleg followed him, empty-armed. Túrin brushed past the bystanders as quickly as he could, not meeting their eyes.

This square seemed like a place where you would have a market. There were even a few people selling things. He wondered if it would be a good idea to ask them about whoever ruled the land and if there were any great wizards known. Perhaps it was just best to make to the building that had caught his eye.

'Beleg,' he said, turning to the elf, who was starting to fall behind. 'Behold! there is a building of great might and majesty.' He pointed with his hand to a tall white building with blue domes touched by gold that towered above the others. 'That must be the palace!'

They made their way to the palace and went up the many steps to the entrance. Other people were milling in and out of the building. Cautiously, and still holding their toy-friends against them, they stepped in. There were many benches facing the front, and candles glowing in a dome to their right, but there was no king to be seen. A few people sat on the benches, and all around there was silence broken only by an occasional whisper.

Túrin and Beleg sat down on one of the benches and looked around. The building was constructed very well. Every part of it was ornate, and there was a huge instrument of pipes that looked like some overgrown flute. Túrin felt strangely uncomfortable there; it was as if everyone about him knew something that he did not. He coughed into his fist and looked around. Right. Beleg was soaking wet, he was wearing a sword, and he was carrying toys. What everyone else knew was that he and Beleg simply did not belong there.

'We must needs ask someone about what this place is,' he whispered against Beleg's ear. He smelt salty.

'Excuse me,' Beleg said to the dark haired couple across from them. 'What is this place?'

The man and the woman exchanged nervous glances, but they said nothing.

'I think that we are too strange at present to be given answer to our questions,' Beleg whispered to Túrin.

He nodded, and they quietly left the building.

'Come on,' said Túrin. 'Let us find some place for you to dry, and we can then discuss what we need to do.'

It took them sometime to find a comfortable enough nook to stay for a while. It was a staircase leading down under the street to a locked door. It was not too far from the "palace" and it offered some shelter from the biting wind. Slowly Beleg dried off, but Andróg-toy only seemed to be getting wetter (although that was probably just skewed perception.) Finally they climbed back out onto the street ready to face their problems all over again.

Two hours of aimless wandering brought them no closer to a solution. They tried to examine every important looking building that they could find, finally learning that quite a few of these ornate places were "churches" and "cathedrals." There seemed to be no palace to find.

Growing frustrated, Túrin turned to Beleg. 'Why do you not ask that stranger,' he nodded towards a man passing by, 'where we can find the king of this land?'

'Why do you not ask him?' Beleg asked.

'You are better with people, my friend.'

'Fine.' He sighed. 'Excuse me, sir?'

The man stopped and turned to them. He smiled. 'I don't speak Finnish,' he said in English.

'Ah, you speak English though?' Beleg said, switching to English.

'Yeah,' the man smiled again.

'Well, I have a question, if you would be willing to answer?'

'Um, sure,' the man said.

'Do you know where the king of this land lives?'

'Oh, Finland doesn't have a king,' the man said. 'It's got a president.'

'A president?'

'Yeah. Sweden's got a king though.'

Sweden. Sweden. Túrin thought to himself. Oh, yes. He remembered it from the map that Chantal had shown them. It was a country bordering Finland.

'Thank-you,' Beleg said. 'Do you know where this president lives?'

'Um.' The man blew air from his cheeks. 'Somewhere in this city, I think. I don't know where. I'm just visiting.'

'Thank-you,' Beleg said again. 'And…what exactly is a president?'

The man crinkled his brow, and his brown eyes narrowed. 'It's…um, it's…is this a joke?'

Beleg shook his head solemnly.

'It's a political leader elected by the people with some power over the country, I guess.'

Beleg nodded solemnly. 'I see. One last thing, do you know if this country has any great wizards?'

The man started to laugh, then he looked at the two of them and stopped laughing. 'You're joking.'

Beleg shook his head.

'You're crazy then.'

No one called Beleg crazy. In a flash, Túrin had drawn his sword. The plush-toys fell to the ground in a pile. 'Take that back.'

The man took a step back. 'You're both loony.'

'Túrin, put that sword away. Now.' Beleg said. He placed a hand on Túrin's wrist.

'I'm going to call the police,' the man said, reaching into his pocket.

Túrin sheathed the sword, and Beleg gathered the plush toys up. 'Let us go,' he said.

They ran.

* * *

><p>'You did what?' Chantal pinched the bridge of her nose and then rubbed her face against her fist. 'You did what?'<p>

It was the next day, and they were once more in the little woods where Chantal had left them the day before. They had spent the night hiding there, and were now under interrogation for what they had been up to.

'He called Beleg crazy, so I drew my sword on him,' Túrin repeated.

Chantal took a few sharp breaths in. 'I'm not usually angry,' she said. 'But…' She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. 'Give me the sword.'

'What?'

'Give. The. Sword. To. Me.' She held her hand out. 'Now.'

Túrin reluctantly handed it over. She nearly dropped it.

'Ah! This is heavy.' She lay it down on the grass near her. 'Now I'm not going to kiss you,' she said. 'You're all going home with me, and you're going to stay in my suitcase and be good.' She folded her arms before descending into a fit of coughing.

Túrin stood there uncomfortably. It was awkward being scolded by a tiny girl. 'But,' he said. 'We have to go to Sweden.'

She looked up at him. 'What?'

'We have to go to Sweden.'

'Why do you have to go to Sweden?'

'They have a king,' Beleg said. 'We must talk to him.'

She sighed. 'And you think he would talk to you.'

'We would beg for audience,' Beleg said.

'That's a fine way to get arrested. That and drawing swords on people!' She gave them another sharp look.

'Please, we must go.'

'Why don't you go to Norway or Denmark? They have kings. Or you could go to England to see the queen…or the Netherlands…or…' She coughed again. 'Or you could practice not being stupid.'

Túrin crossed his arms.

'I hope you turn plush,' Chantal said. 'I'm not kissing you.'

'But…'

'He's going to file a police report. They're going to be looking for you. You can't go do stupid things like that.'

'I'm not stupid,' Túrin said.

'I'm sure you aren't,' she said. 'Just incredibly, horribly, terribly, male.'

'There's no need to bring sex into this,' Beleg said.

'Is.'

'No.'

She harrumphed and ignored them, only to start coughing again.

'Are you…sick?' Beleg asked.

'Yes, wonderfully so.'

'Is that what makes you so short-tempered?'

'That and your stupidity! Drawing a sword in public.' She harrumphed again. 'Do you know that I got an email today?'

'…And that is?' Beleg looked curious.

'An electronic letter.'

'Is this somehow important?' Túrin asked.

'Only if you consider Sauron important,' she said.

They both looked at her. 'Sauron?'

'Yes, Morgoth's little underling.'

'What does it say?' Túrin demanded.

'It said:

_Dear Chantal,_

_Just writing to let you know that Morgoth changed his mind. I'll be dropping by soon for a little chat. Toodle-loo until I see you soon._

_Heart, Sauron_.'

'Heart?' Túrin said.

'It means love.'

'Ah,' Túrin said, and he might have said something more except that suddenly the world around him grew a lot larger, and he found he couldn't say anything at all. Or move. Once again, it was plush-toy time.


	12. The readiest to his will

_"for Men proved in this matter as in others the readiest to his will." _– J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Silmarillion_

* * *

><p>Sauron looked at the door, trying to find a doorbell on it somewhere. He couldn't, so he knocked. There was no answer. Tentatively, he turned the handle. The door was locked. Frowning, he muttered a couple words under his breath, and the next moment, the dark brown door swung inwards onto a small white hall.<p>

'Hello?' he called.

There was still no answer, so he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. There was a closet to his left, shoes to his right, and two staircases in front of him – a long one going down and a short one going up. The short staircase was blocked on top by a baby gate.

'Hello,' he called out again, hearing a noise from somewhere behind the baby gate. 'It's me, Sauron.'

He started up the small staircase and swung himself easily over the baby gate. 'Chantal, where are you?'

'In the kitchen,' came a small voice. 'Feeding the baby.'

He walked down the short (white) corridor into a (also white) living room that was separated from the (very white) kitchen by a solitary (white) wall open on both ends.

'Is this what they call modern architecture?' he asked, waving a hand around at the high ceilings and large windows.

'I guess,' Chantal said. She did not look too happy at the moment. She was sitting at the table next to a little blonde baby in a highchair and was holding a spoon filled with some sort of orange mush. The baby was crying so hard that mucus was running down from her nose. 'Won't you sit down?' Chantal waved vaguely in the direction of the living room and then at the table. 'Anywhere is fine.'

Sauron sat down on the chair behind her. He had always found that this tended to unnerve people, and unnerving a person was exactly what he was supposed to be doing at the moment. Sure enough, he saw goosebumps rise on her bare arms. She swivelled in her chair to look at him, but quickly turned back to the crying baby. Unnerved she was.

'That is not a fine place to sit,' the girl said.

'But I want to sit here,' Sauron replied smoothly. He leaned back and stretched and yawned. 'You told me I could sit anywhere.'

'Yeah…' Chantal wiped the baby's mouth with a napkin and picked up the remote control of the television.

Sauron glanced towards it, mildly interested, as she lowered the volume. 'She likes Teletubbies,' Chantal said.

'I'm _sure she does,_' Sauron said.

Chantal did not look at him; she looked towards the screen where colourful chubby things resembling mice crossed with humans were stumbling upon the grass with a large ball.

'You said you wanted to talk?' she put the spoon into the baby's mouth and pulled it out again, wiped away the dribble of food on the baby's chin with the side of the spoon, filled the spoon once again, and waited.

'So you _did_ get my email?' Sauron asked, inching his chair closer to her.

'Yes.' She stiffened further.

'Good. I was a little afraid that I might have gotten the wrong email address.' He smiled. 'So you know why I'm here then?'

'You said that Morgoth changed his mind, yes, I remember.' She put the spoon down as the baby started crying again.

'Am I scaring her?' he asked.

'Rather.'

'Mind introducing me?'

Chantal paused. 'Do I mind…introducing…my _baby_ cousin to one of the most evil beings in all of creation?' She paused again and shook her head. 'Fine. Sauron, this is Lilja, who wants to take a nap soon. Lilja, this is Sauron, who wants to enslave the world and see to it personally that every living creature on it suffers.'

Lilja looked at Sauron with very suspicious, very blue eyes.

'She's a charmer,' Sauron said.

Lilja started wailing.

'Haha.' Chantal lifted her out of the highchair and, brushing past Sauron, went to wipe the baby's face off at the sink.

'Saying out loud the phonetic pronunciation of the syllables designed to indicate laughter in writing does not reflect well upon the actual amusement of the utterer,' Sauron mused, getting up and following her to the sink.

'The actual amusement might be quite low then.' Chantal picked up a tube of lotion and applied it a little of it to her cousin's cheeks. 'It prevents rash,' she told him as he picked up the discarded tube. She put the baby down on the carpet amid a mess of toys in the living room area and then went to take care of the used dishes.

Sauron sat down on the red chair in the living room and watched Lilja chew a book.

'I've been watching you,' he called to the kitchen. 'Spying, I suppose you would call it. You have been sick…'

'I'm getting over it.' She clanged the plate into the dishwasher.

'You fainted…'

'First time in my life, and I don't see what this has got to do with anything.' She banged the dishwasher door shut.

'Humans are weak,' Sauron said.

'Sure.' She came back into the living room and stood firmly by the piano, arms folded.

'Where are they?' he demanded.

'Where are who?'

'Túrin and the others: Where are they?'

'I don't know.'

'They were in your care,' Sauron said.

'I lost them.' Chantal looked straight at him, annoyed now, like she thought she had some sort of power over him just because she was standing.

'Did you?'

'I told them not to go too far, but I don't think they listened to me. They never showed up again after the second day, and I've been looking for them ever since, but I haven't found them. I'm assuming that someone brought them home, they were thrown in the garbage, or they tried to find somewhere to hide in the woods and are still lost there, toys now. At any rate, they're gone.'

'That's a lot of things to assume.'

'There are a lot of ways they could have gone missing.'

'You lie well.'

'What makes you think that?'

Sauron smirked instead of answering. That also tended to unnerve people. 'Why don't you sit down? You look so tense standing there. Besides, we don't want you fainting again.'

'I'm fine.' Chantal bent to pick up Lilja who had crawled over to her and was holding her arms up to her. She settled the baby against her hip and they both watched Sauron sullenly.

'I'm growing impatient, Chantal.' Sauron stood up as well and took a few steps towards them. 'As I told you, I have been spying on you, but I have seen no sign of them. Now, as you may have guessed, Melkor would not be in the least bit happy if they managed to slip through his grasp over here. He has a revenge plan that he's working on, and Melkor doesn't like people in the way of his revenge plans. And,' he continued, his eyes blazing, 'if Melkor isn't happy, then _I_ am not happy.'

'So get a new crush. They're gone.'

'Stop being snarky with me,' Sauron snapped. 'I just want to get them and get out of here. If you cooperate, I won't hurt your little family.'

'Is that a threat?'

'Yes.'

'I'd suggest checking the surrounding woods,' Chantal said quietly. 'That's the last place I saw them.' She rocked Lilja, who had started to fuss again.

For a moment, Sauron thought about snatching the child from her arms and threatening to kill her right then and there if she didn't tell him exactly where Túrin and the others were, but he didn't. He was rather enjoying his little game. He liked this modern world with the shiny new cell phones and as fast as thunder computers, and he didn't want to leave quite yet. In fact, if the computers had been as fast as lightning, he was pretty sure he would have just ditched Morgoth and stayed there forever.

He looked at Chantal, and he could read in her eyes that she guessed at what he was thinking. Worry flickered over her face, and he knew she would tell him where they were the instant he directly threatened her relatives. He had already beaten her; he could have them back whenever he wanted.

'All right,' he said. 'But you had better not be messing with me, little girl.' He brushed past her quickly and walked straight through the baby gate and on down the steps. Little tricks like that scared humans. He stopped by the front door and turned to look at them one more time. Chantal was dragging the highchair to the piano and putting the baby in it; she glanced at him.

'I know everything,' he said and walked out the door to the start of baby piano improvisation.

It was warm outside the house. He pulled off his red leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. There was a buzz of life around the place. He could hear conversations just out of earshot, the hum of a lawnmower, the occasional dog. The air smelt sweet and dirty and fresh – like flowers and fumes and bright green leaves.

_I wonder where she is hiding them._ He thought as he made his way down one of the streets past neat rows of little wooden houses. A funny coincidence that the house he picked to deliver the package to would belong to a family who actually had some idea about who they all were. What a funny, funny coincidence when he had just wanted the toys to go to the dog.

He pulled out his cell phone to call Morgoth. This was no ordinary cell phone. It was a magical cell phone with magical properties that enabled him to communicate through time, through space, even to the dead. It was very cell phone-ish looking, however, so he would be safe to use it in public.

Flipping it open, he glanced down at the messages. He had a text from Thuringwethil.

_hhey dsawurron vvbaabvy neeeddf mnwe? iull;; sduixxc hjer bnloiod xxoxoxoox_

_What the Angband?_ He wondered staring down at the text. Oh. "Hey Sauron baby, need me? I'll suck her blood. xoxoxox" That's what it must mean to say. Well, he'd forgive her. Texting with those nails must be a nightmare. He'd have to remember to add it to the list of things to torment people's minds with.

_No, I don't need you right now. I've got things managed. Torturing the little brat just fine by myself. I'll have their location in no time._

He sent the text and speed dialled Morgoth's number. Of course he got the answering machine.

'Hey boss,' he said. 'I've found the girl. She's hiding them, but it won't be long now. She's already beginning to break under the excruciating torture I've got her under. I'll have them in…I'll say three days tops. Okay. Love ya. Bye.' He flipped the phone shut and stuck it into the pocket of his tight black jeans. Now to find a nice café where to he could get a good coffee and something sweet. He had big plans for the day and none of them involved anything remotely like working.


	13. And he became ever more friendly

_'And he became ever more friendly with the old Dwarf'_– J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Children of Húrin_

* * *

><p>Lips brushed Mîm's plush cheek, and then he was standing and breathing in a white room. The horrible woman was standing in front of him.<p>

'So, sorry about that,' she said. 'I…we need to get better organized.'

Mîm glared around the room he had spent the last couple days in. Chantal had not awoken them from the curse for at least forty-eight hours. He knew he was not the only one angry. Túrin's eyes were narrowed dangerously. Andróg looked fit to murder. Beleg looked to be the only one unaffected, which Mîm quickly added to his (understandably long) list of reasons to hate the Elf.

Chantal had left them on the daybed most days, facing the window. At night she had lined them up in the suitcase with the top open and tucked a jumper over them to keep them warm.

Mîm's fists balled. He looked up at Túrin, waiting for him to speak.

'Hmm,' Chantal said, looking around at all of them. 'You're angry.' She didn't seem very bothered by that.

Mîm didn't know where she had put Beleg/Túrin's sword, but neither of them had it. He guessed she didn't know that they could kill her with their bare hands. He then followed that train of thought and realized that if they did kill her they would turn into plush toys and then not have a way to awake. Unless it wasn't a kiss. It could just be the saliva. They could collect her saliva and then dab it on themselves. He liked that idea better.

Or, and Mîm liked this idea best, they could switch positions. They could be the one who controlled her life, instead of she controlling theirs. They could kidnap her – there were four of them, it wouldn't be difficult – and force her to kiss them. He decided to suggest that idea to Túrin just as soon as they were alone. Túrin would like that idea.

'Do not ever do that to us again,' said Túrin.

She stared at him. 'Okay,' she said. 'Next time I'll let Sauron find you.'

'Next time,' said Túrin, 'you shall let us face him.'

She continued to stare at him, her face expressionless. 'Do you want something to eat?'

Túrin took a step towards her. He leaned close. 'Do you understand?'

'Yes. I'm not stupid.'

Mîm was almost certain that the pause after the 'yes' stood for a 'but.'

'Good.'

Beleg laid a hand on Túrin's arm. 'We should eat,' he said softly.

The four of them followed Chantal up a narrow staircase and into the kitchen.

'Have you heard from Sauron?' Beleg asked.

'No.' She got out bread and cheese and milk. 'Not since Wednesday.'

'How long have we been plush?' Túrin said, ripping off a chunk of bread.

'Um…we got here on Sunday…so…Monday you went wandering, and then you came back on Tuesday, and that's when you went plush, and today's Thursday, so three days. Do you feel hungry? I mean, does hunger affect you when you are plush?'

'No, it doesn't,' Túrin said. 'I didn't realize it had only been three days.'

Mîm had thought it had been shorter, but Dwarves and Men felt time differently. As did Elves, which was probably why Beleg wasn't bothered.

He sniffed at the cheese.

Chantal put out a jar of strawberry preserves and a cucumber.

'We need to find a way to fix this situation,' she said.

'Yes,' said Túrin. 'We do.'

'Now,' said Chantal, 'I've been doing some research, and, well, probably the most likely cure from a curse like this would be "true love's kiss." It shows up again and again in fairy tales.'

'What's that?' Túrin asked, mouth full. Beleg hit his shoulder.

'It's when someone who is in love with someone under a curse kisses the someone under the curse and then they get free from the curse.'

'Sounds good,' said Túrin. 'How do we get someone to be in love with someone?'

'I don't know,' said Chantal. 'It always seemed to be a love at first sight kind of thing.' She sighed.

Mîm munched on his bread. He didn't exactly believe in love at first sight.

Chantal wrinkled her nose. 'Of course you two,' she waved vaguely at Beleg and Túrin, 'are both what most people would consider quite attractive. And attraction is what most of this "love at first sight" nonsense is built on. So we might be able to get that to work.' She shrugged. 'It's worth a try.'

Mîm looked at Túrin. Túrin didn't look quite convinced.

'Um,' Túrin said. 'I don't quite follow you.'

Chantal leaned back against the table and sighed deeply. 'You get woken up from being plush toys because of a kiss. It follows, then, that you might be freed completely from a kiss. In fairy tales, "true love's kiss" is what frees people from spells. Therefore, it would be logical to try to achieve "true love's kiss" to free you. These "true love's kisses" are generally given by people who just met, so they are therefore usually based on nothing more than attraction. You and Beleg are the most attractive of your companions, so it would be logical to try to get someone to fall in love with you – based on your attraction – in order to free you from the spell Morgoth has placed you under. Okay?'

'Ah,' said Túrin.

Mîm tugged on his hand. 'I need to talk to you,' he said.

'Whatever for?'

'It's about the situation. I have a plan.'

Túrin nodded and followed Mîm out of the kitchen and into the small bathroom. Mîm shut the door.

'We kidnap her,' he said.

Túrin stared down at him. 'What?'

'We kidnap her. We don't let ourselves be bound to her, we make her be bound to us.'

'Ah,' said Túrin. 'Would that not be wrong?'

'She left us as toys for three days against our will,' Mîm said. 'She has taken your sword from you. She has conversed with Sauron and not been hurt. We cannot trust her, nor hold ourselves indebted to her any longer.'

Túrin nodded thoughtfully. While the idea of harming a woman did not appeal to him, he was a proud man and being forced to be bound to the strange maiden was not a situation that he readily accepted.

'How does it work?'

'We take her along and force her to kiss us to keep us awake. I do not think she has to be willing to kiss us, you've made her do it when she didn't want to before.'

Túrin nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes.'

'Sounds good?' Mîm folded his arms.

'Yes, that actually sounds smart,' Túrin said. 'That way we can find a great sorcerer or magician who can bring us back to where we belong. I still say we start with the King of Sweden.'

Mîm nodded. 'Good.'

'I'll talk to Beleg about it,' Túrin added. 'And remember that we shall not hurt her.'

Mîm felt the floor drop from under his feet. He frowned. 'Don't do that. Beleg wouldn't agree, and then we couldn't do it. He might even warn the woman about our plan.'

'Even with a warning, there would be nothing she could do to escape,' Túrin said calmly. 'I shall speak to Beleg, and we shall see.'

Mîm followed Túrin out of the bathroom. Túrin went to Beleg and they started whispering together again. They were always whispering. Mîm really hated that about them. He glared at them for a long time, until they stopped their whispering.

Beleg didn't look too happy, but Túrin was smiling.

'We shall try Chantal's plan first, and then we shall try ours,' he told Mîm.

'What's your plan?' Chantal asked.

Andróg looked back and forth between Mîm and Túrin angrily. 'Yes, what is your plan?'

'I shall tell you later,' Túrin told him.

'Tell me now.'

'Very well.' Túrin got up and went into the bathroom with Andróg.

Mîm gave Beleg a smug smile. Beleg frowned at him and tossed his hair.

Chantal got up and started towards the bathroom, probably planning to eavesdrop. Jumping up, Beleg took her by the arms, forcing her to stay in the kitchen.

'Please, do not follow them,' he said. 'Túrin is angry, and spying on him shall only upset him more.'

'He's really that angry?' Chantal said. 'Because I tried to hide him for a few days?'

'You have hindered his freedom,' Beleg said. 'He will not let that go lightly.'

Chantal sighed deeply. 'Men,' she muttered and pulled away from Beleg.

He held her fast.

'What are you doing?' she said.

'I am seeing which of us is stronger,' he said.

'You are.'

'I believe so. But still, try to free yourself.'

Mîm spread some butter on his bread and added a thick hunk of cheese. This would be an interesting thing to watch: an Elf and a woman fighting. He hoped that they both got seriously injured.

Chantal pulled again, but that did nothing to help. She stood still, thinking. She was standing with her back to Beleg, who was holding both of her arms tightly at the wrists. She took two steps backwards, until she was standing almost against him, and then stepped hard on his foot.

'Ah,' said Beleg and grabbed her around the waist and picked her up.

She folded her arms and looked at the ceiling. 'Hmm,' she said.

Mîm wished something interesting would happen. He decided that Elves and women were boring even in their fights.

'You have nothing?' said Beleg.

Silently Chantal reached behind her and grabbed Beleg's hair. She pulled hard. Beleg reached to grab her hands, dropping her. She fell to the floor with a thud, still holding onto his hair. His head jerked downwards, and he fell on top of her. He wrested his hair from her hands and pinned her hands above her head. She kicked uselessly against him.

'I told you you were stronger,' she said.

'What on earth is going on here?' Túrin had returned, Andróg by his side. He was staring in surprise at the scene before him.

'They're fighting,' Mîm said happily.

'Whatever for?' Túrin asked.

Beleg jumped off Chantal. 'I wanted to see which of us was stronger,' he said.

'But you are, of course,' Túrin said, touching his arm.

'Yes,' said Beleg. 'It is as I believed.'

'Then why test it?' Túrin looked at Beleg, confusion written in his eyes.

Beleg smiled at him. 'One must wonder about such matters. After all, they can travel much faster than we. I did wonder if they had invented a way to become stronger physically as well.'

Chantal nodded. 'Makes sense.' She was straightening out her clothes and hair calmly. 'But I actually think that humans are now weaker then they once were because of all the devices they have to help them.'

Mîm made careful note of how she called humans 'they' and not 'we.' He still sometimes had suspicions of her. The 'helpless mortal woman' face she put on could be an act.

'Ah,' said Túrin. He frowned down at the floor. 'Do you really just wonder things like that?' he asked Beleg.

'Yes,' Beleg replied.

'Does anyone else?' Túrin asked.

'Oh, I do,' said Chantal.

Túrin looked at her in confusion. 'You do?'

Chantal nodded. 'For instance, Beleg is one of the Elves who awoke first and thus had no parents, correct?'

Beleg nodded gravely. 'What have you wondered about that?'

'Well,' she said. 'I've always wondered if you had a belly button.'

Mîm frowned. That was one of the stupidest things he had ever heard somebody ask about in his whole entire life, and he had heard a lot of stupid people ask a lot of stupid things.

Beleg laughed. 'Yes, that is a question that I can imagine one having.' He laughed again.

Mîm dumped some strawberries on his plate, trying to block them out. He just wanted them to get the whole 'fall in love' thing over so that they could get on with a sensible plan and get out of there.

'You really wonder that?' Túrin asked the dratted woman.

She nodded. 'Yeah. I've lain awake at night wondering that. It's disturbed my sleep.'

Beleg smiled, his face crinkling disturbingly attractively around his eyes and mouth. 'That is quite funny,' he said.

Andróg frowned. He looked like he had just taken a mouthful of sour milk. 'Well,' he said, looking up at Beleg. 'Do you?'

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><p><em>AN: Thanks to everyone who is reading this story! I hope you are all having a wonderful January!_


	14. All trace of his flight washed away

_'All trace of his flight washed away' _– J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Children of Húrin_

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><p>'Um,' Beleg said, looking around the room. All eyes were fixed on him, except for Túrin's. Túrin was still staring at Chantal.<p>

'You actually wondered that?' Túrin said.

She nodded.

'That is indeed strange.' Túrin looked at Beleg.

Now all eyes were definitely fixed on him.

Beleg swallowed. 'I suppose I have to answer it then?'

'Yes.' Andróg folded his arms. 'I think you do.'

Beleg took a deep breath and looked over at the cheery red sofa and chair set in the living room. Then he looked out the window at the brick buildings across the green yards.

'This is a little embarrassing,' he said.

'Go on,' said Túrin. 'It's fine.'

'Um,' Beleg said again.

Túrin rolled his eyes and reached over and pulled up Beleg's shirt to reveal a nicely toned, flat tummy – a very flat tummy. There was no indentation where most people would have a mark of their umbilical cord, a reminder of their passage through the womb. Beleg had had no such passage, as he had been formed and awoken beneath the stars when the first Children opened their eyes upon the earth.

'Ta-da,' Túrin said. 'He's a freak.' He dropped Beleg's shirt back in place.

Beleg smoothed his shirt over his stomach and looked around the room. 'I do not have a belly button,' he announced, although they all knew that already.

'That is queer,' Andróg said. 'Like all matters concerning Elves.'

'Most Elves have belly buttons,' Túrin said. 'He just does not for he had no parents.'

'_That_ is queer,' Andróg said.

Beleg sighed, remembering the first time that Túrin had discovered that he possessed no navel. They had been wrestling, and Beleg's shirt had ridden up. Túrin had looked upon him in wonder and cried, 'but you have no belly button!' And then he had pulled up his shirt to show him what he meant, thinking it a mark of difference between Elves and Men. Beleg had then had to explain to him his history as well as find an Elf who had parents in order to assuage Túrin's curiosity. That had been followed by a week of finding out all the physical differences between Elves and Men that Túrin could think of, cumulating in a combined lesson on 'yes, you're getting a beard' and 'yes, Elves get Goosebumps.'

'Okay,' Chantal said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She looked out the window at the little baby buggy where Lilja was undoubtedly sleeping. 'Now, back to the falling in love business.' She picked up her laptop from the end table where it sat and opened it. She opened up a browser and typed in 'how to fall in love with someone.'

Túrin looked at Beleg. 'Do you think there is any chance of this plan succeeding?' he asked.

Beleg shrugged. 'It may, or it may not. There is a chance, however small it may be.'

Andróg shrugged and sat down at the table and poured himself a glass of milk. 'Just let her get over with it, if you must, Neithan. But for once I must say I agree with the Dwarf.'

'Then agree with him if you must.' Túrin poured himself a glass of milk as well and cut off some cheese.

'Ah-ha!' Chantal cried suddenly. 'Scientists got two strangers to fall in love with each other after asking each other a series of questions!' She looked way too excited about this. 'They even went on to get married! We've got to try this.'

Beleg glanced at Túrin, who shrugged. 'Very well then.'

'Great!' Chantal smiled. 'We'll try it tonight. I don't have enough time right now before the baby wakes up.' She closed the computer. 'Oh, you'll probably want to wash up, won't you?'

'No,' said Andróg.

'Yes,' said Beleg at the same moment.

'Great!' said Chantal. 'I'll show you where as soon as you're done eating.'

Having finished their lunch, Beleg and the others went back downstairs. 'This is the toilet,' Chantal said, opening the door to a small room with a sink and a toilet. 'And this is the shower.' She opened another door on a large room with two showerheads mounted on one wall. There was a drain in the middle of the floor and a glass door looking leading to a wooden sauna on one wall. There was a bench for sitting, a few towels hanging on the wall, and a clothes rack.

'You can wash one at a time or two at a time or whichever,' Chantal said. 'There are towels there. Make sure to push the water to the drain when you're done.' She held up a squeegee. 'With this. Shampoo and soap are there. The water goes on like this.' She jerked the handle up and water sprayed from the shower. 'And hot is on this side, cold is on this side, and I think that's all. Oh, and we've got to get you some new clothes soon. Okay? Got everything. Great. I've got to go check on the baby.'

She disappeared up the stairs.

Mîm promptly locked himself in the toilet.

'We don't have to take showers do we?' Andróg asked.

'Yes,' said Beleg.

'I shall not force you to,' Túrin said.

Beleg wrinkled his nose. 'Túrin, he stinks.'

'He does not stink,' Túrin said.

'How would you know? You stink as well.'

'I do not stink.'

'Yes, you do.'

'He does not,' Andróg said. 'And neither do I.'

'You both stink. And you at least are bathing.' He took Túrin by the wrist and pulled him over to one of the showers. 'Undress.'

Túrin jerked his arm free.

Beleg grabbed it again. 'You said that you would let me counsel you in all ways,' he said, starting to undo Túrin's belt. 'Well, I now counsel you to take a shower.'

'Fine, very well then, I shall.' Túrin pushed Beleg away from him and started to pull his clothes off.

Beleg turned to Andróg. 'Well?'

'I'm not undressing in front of you.'

Beleg gathered up Túrin's discarded clothing. 'Then put your clothes outside the door.' He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. A few moments later the door opened again and a dripping wet Túrin handed Beleg Andróg's clothes.

'Thank you.' Beleg separated the belts and shoes from the pile.

'What are you doing?' Mîm was standing behind him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

'I'm going to wash our clothes.'

Mîm scoffed.

'Hygiene is very important,' Beleg said.

Mîm just glowered at him. Beleg ignored him and started to straighten the clothes.

'Aaah!' Túrin cried from the bathroom.

Beleg dropped what he was doing and rushed in, Mîm at his heels.

Túrin was standing in front of the shower, a hand over his face. 'It's in my eye. It's in my eye!'

Beleg ran over to him and pulled his hand away. 'Here, Túrin, stay still.' He turned the water to cool and began to wash Túrin's eyes. Túrin spluttered but calmed down.

'Shampoo?' Beleg asked.

'Yes.'

Beleg grabbed a towel and dried Túrin's face with it, dabbing gently at his eyes. 'There you go.'

Túrin pulled the towel away from him and wiped his face. 'I can do that,' he said. 'I am not a child any longer.'

'Are you all right down there?' Chantal called from the top of the stairs.

'Yes!' Túrin shouted. 'We're fine! Don't come down!'

'Túrin just got shampoo in his eyes!' Beleg called. 'But we're fine now.'

'Okay!' It did not sound like a reassured okay. It sounded like the kind of okay that thought they were secretly murdering each other.

Beleg turned to Andróg, who had wrapped himself up in a towel and was giving Beleg a look of dislike.

'All right.' Beleg clapped Túrin on the shoulder. 'Back to work, men.'

He walked out and shut the door behind him and sat down on the white tile of the floor. He was now wet, and it wasn't very comfortable. He hoped that they would finish up. Mîm, who was also half soaked, stood close enough to Beleg to drip water on him. Beleg pushed him away. Mîm pushed back. Beleg went and sat on the staircase. Mîm watched him darkly.

Andróg walked out a few minutes later, towel around his waist. Túrin followed him.

'Can we have our clothes now?' Andróg asked.

'No,' said Beleg. 'I have to wash them.'

Mîm walked into the bathroom and shut the door. He locked it. 'Mîm showers next,' he said.

Beleg sighed and looked up at Túrin.

'So what do we wear now?' Túrin asked.

'Your towels.'

Andróg glared at him. 'Why do you have to be so clean?' He walked into the room where they had been kept as plush toys and sat down on the daybed. Túrin and Beleg followed him.

'This is so stupid,' Andróg muttered.

'What?' Túrin asked, sitting down beside him.

'Nothing, captain.' Andróg threw himself down on his back and glared at the ceiling.

Túrin tapped his bare knees and tried estimating how long it would take to get their clothes back.

Beleg watched them silently and tugged on his damp shirt. He was getting itchy. He wondered how long it could possibly take Mîm to take a shower. Mîm was humming loudly as the shower ran. Beleg supposed that he was prolonging it since he knew it would make Beleg uncomfortable. In fact, Beleg was quite right about this, so it took a full forty-five minutes before a steaming Mîm emerged from the bathroom dressed in wet clothes, including boots. He sloshed into the toilet and shut the door and locked it.

Beleg sighed and walked into the bathroom. He washed himself first, and then he washed all the clothing. Then he hung the clothes up to dry on the clothes rack, which was mostly empty, and washed himself again.

When he came out of the bathroom Mîm was still in the toilet, singing to himself in a low voice. Andróg was seated on the daybed flipping through an illustrated medical book and making faces. Túrin was crouching in front of the television, trying to figure out how to turn it on. Beleg sat down on the floor next to him because he didn't want to sit next to Andróg.

'Our clothes are drying.'

'Okay.' Túrin pushed one of the buttons on the side of the television. It came on, and the screen filled with a giant truck.

'What is that?' Andróg asked, putting down his book.

Túrin sat down on the daybed and stared at the screen. 'It's a vehicle,' he said.

'It has huge wheels,' Andróg said.

The truck ran through a river, spraying water and dirt behind it.

'Amazing,' Andróg said. 'Let us watch this.'

'All right,' Túrin said.

Beleg sat down on the bed beside Túrin and looked at the screen. He did not understand why this truck was interesting to them. He put his head on Túrin's shoulder and tried daydreaming.

'We were going to see which of our trucks could stop fastest,' the driver on the television was saying. 'So we made a test. We would drive towards the lake at full speed and then stop. Whoever got closest to the lake won. But if we went in the lake, then we were BEAVER BAIT!'

Beleg nuzzled closer to Túrin, vaguely wondering what a beaver was. Túrin was warm and Beleg was feeling rather sleepy. He yawned and lay down, placing his head on Túrin's lap. He pulled one of the blankets over him and closed his eyes to shut out the annoying driver. He could still hear him going on about how they were going to take their trucks on an expedition through the Alaskan wilderness so they had to be sure they were good trucks otherwise they would be BEAR BAIT. Wondering why he had to shout that all the time, he started to drift off.

Beleg was startled from his cosy sleep by a knock on the door. It was Chantal.

'Hey,' she said calmly, as if they were not all hanging out in towels. She was carrying Lilja, who looked around the room importantly.

Beleg sat up and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

'Hello,' Túrin said.

'You're watching telly, I see,' she said. 'Any good?'

'There is a monster truck,' said Túrin.

'Ah. Monster truck.' Chantal nodded. 'So…you're changing back to toys in a couple hours, yes?'

'I think so,' said Túrin.

'Okay.' She looked around. 'Where are your clothes?'

'They're drying,' said Beleg. 'In the bathroom.'

'Oh,' Chantal said. 'Why don't I put those in the dryer for you? They'll get done faster that way.'

'All right,' Beleg said.

'Does one of you want to help me?' she asked. She looked around again. 'And where's Mîm?'

'He's in the toilet,' said Túrin.

'Ah.' She nodded. 'Okay, clothes.' She walked into the bathroom. 'Uhg.'

Beleg got up and followed her in. 'What?'

'My socks are wet now.'

They looked down at her wet socks for a moment.

'Yes,' said Beleg.

'Clothes,' she said.

Beleg gathered up the clothes and followed Chantal out of the bathroom, past the toilet, and into the laundry room. Chantal opened one of the machines. 'Clothes in there.'

Beleg put the clothes in there.

'Could you hold her for a second?' Chantal asked, holding the baby out to Beleg. Beleg took the baby carefully. Lilja stared up at him with big blue eyes and pulled on his hair. She giggled.

Beleg tried to pull his hair away, but Lilja held fast. Beleg gave up. She giggled again.

Chantal had pulled her wet socks off and was now examining the machine. 'Ah,' she said. A moment later the machine began to rumble, and Chantal took the baby back. 'Thanks. When the machine stops its rumbling the clothes should be dry. Do you need anything else?'

Beleg shook his head. 'No. Thank you.'

'Okay, I'll see you later.' She went back up the stairs with the baby.

Beleg walked back over to Túrin, who was still watching the monster trucks run around Alaska. Something was going wrong with them.

'What's their problem?' he asked Túrin.

'They've got to get across the river somehow,' said Túrin, 'or they're salmon bait.'


	15. Whom shall we love, when all hate us?

Author's note: This chapter is not what it seems. Not at all.

* * *

><p><em>Whom shall we love, when all hate us? – <em>J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Children of Húrin_

* * *

><p>Chantal sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop open in front of her. 'So,' she said to the Dwarf, Elf, and two Men sitting on the floor across from her. 'How do you want to do this?'<p>

'I don't,' said Andróg.

She ignored him and looked at Túrin. 'There's no reason to think this will work, but since there is no real reason to think it _won't_ work, I think we should still try. It's a fairly common answer in stories.'

'Do you mean to tell us that your one and only plan for helping us is to fall in love with us?' Túrin said slowly.

'No,' she said. 'That's one of my plans. My original plan, which is now my other plan, was to set up online dating profiles for you and get _someone else_ to fall in love with you. My _other_ other plan is to get you guys to all kiss each other in case Morgoth is playing some sort of game with irony where the cure was in front of you all along.' She smiled.

'Ew,' said Andróg.

'Not as "ew" as slobbery dog jaws,' she said sweetly.

Andróg glanced sideways at Beleg. 'Yes as "ew".'

Chantal ignored him again. 'Oh, and that might also help to see if my other idea of "one true hate's kiss" being the cure might at all work.'

'So you are trying to discover how the dark lord's mind might work and use that against him?' Túrin asked.

'Yeah, pretty much.' She looked down at her laptop again. 'Shall we get started?'

Beleg leaned forward and looked down at the computer screen. 'Those are the questions?'

'Yes. We have to answer all of those questions and then stare into each other's eyes for four minutes.'

Mîm cleared his throat. 'Who are you going to force to do that?'

Chantal sighed. 'Does anyone want to volunteer?'

'Who do you think you could most easily fall in love with?' Beleg asked.

She paused, then frowned. 'Well, I've never actually really been in love, so…' she paused again, contemplating whether or not this was a good idea and wondering if all those songs about broken hearts being the worst thing in the world were anywhere close to accurate.

'I shall do it,' Túrin said. 'I am the captain, after all.'

'Cool.' Chantal handed the laptop to Beleg. 'Do you want to ask the questions?'

Andróg sat back against the wall and raised his eyebrows. Mîm sat down in the corner farthest from everyone and crossed his arms.

'Whatever happened to the "love at first sight" sort of thing?' Andróg asked.

'That's kind of where the dating profile thing will come in,' said Chantal. 'I obviously haven't fallen in love with any of you at first sight, so it won't work with us.'

'Has anyone every told you that you are most annoying?'

'Yes, many people, frequently. Mainly because I'm "blunt" and "efficient." Shall we continue?'

Beleg cleared his throat. 'Okay. Question number one.'

Túrin squared his shoulders and looked across at Chantal, adapting a battle stance. She pushed her hair back off one shoulder and straightened her back.

'Given the choice of anyone in the world,' Beleg read, 'whom would you want as a dinner guest?'

'My mother,' said Túrin. He offered no further comment.

Beleg looked at Chantal.

'Um,' she said. 'Christopher Tolkien. He might have an answer to all of this.'

'Who?' Túrin demanded.

'He's the son of the man who wrote the book about you.'

'Hmm,' Túrin said. He looked like he had added Christopher Tolkien to the list of people he was going to find and beg an answer of. Chantal wondered if he was listed before or after the King of Sweden.

'Question two,' Beleg announced. 'Would you like to be famous? In what way?'

'I would like to be famous for destroying Morgoth,' said Túrin solemnly.

'Uh,' said Chantal. 'I'd like to be famous for…writing books and making films, but not really famous because that would be awkward and people would find out all the embarrassing things I'd ever done. So…famous after some time, I guess?'

She looked at Túrin, who was still sitting silently.

'Next question,' said Beleg, trying to sound chipper. 'Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?'

'I do not make telephone calls,' said Túrin.

'Yes, I do,' said Chantal. 'And I do so because the long spaces of silence in my conversation don't translate well over the phone.' She fell silent again.

Beleg narrowed his eyes. 'Question four: What would constitute a "perfect" day for you?'

'A perfect day for me would be destroying Morgoth and having all his curses lifted, then being reunited with my mother and the rest of my family. And Beleg would promise to stay by my side always, and we would never be parted,' Túrin added.

'Oh, Túrin!' Beleg smiled and laid a hand over his heart.

Andróg scoffed loudly and muttered a very rude word under his breath.

'Not in front of the lady!' Túrin snapped at Andróg.

Andróg gave Chantal a twisted smile. 'Apologies, lady.'

Beleg reached out and patted Túrin's knee. 'And you?' he asked Chantal, who was feeling very wretched indeed. She could think of nothing great and noble she could possibly do for a perfect day.

'Well.' She bit her lip. 'In a perfect day I would be the wind, and then water, and then fire, and I would travel the face of the earth as these, and keep the memories forever.'

Andróg rolled his eyes.

'Hmm.' Beleg looked down. 'Five: When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?'

'I last sang to myself a few weeks ago when walking back to camp.' Túrin looked up at the ceiling, thinking. 'And I last sang to someone else at Yule, and that was to Beleg, who wanted me to sing.'

'And it was very nice,' Beleg said gently.

'You actually have a good voice, Neithan,' Andróg said. 'You should sing more often.'

'Yes,' said Mîm.

They all looked at Chantal.

'Today, because fun,' she said. 'And also today because I sang the baby to sleep.' Chantal sang a lot. She was pretty sure they already knew this because they had been more or less sharing a room for the past few days.

'Very good.' Beleg smiled and continued. 'If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?'

'Body,' said Túrin. 'Strength.'

'Body,' said Chantal. 'Because thirty year olds are idiots.'

Túrin stared at her in wonder. 'How old are you?'

'Seventeen.'

That just made Túrin more confused.

Beleg adjusted the computer screen. 'Question seven: Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?'

'No,' said Túrin.

Chantal looked closely at him. She was trying to imagine what he would look like falling upon his own sword. He looked young – ridiculously young. (She always imagined him older than he was.) He was what would be called strikingly attractive or drop-dead gorgeous, depending on the speaker. His black hair was a mess, yes, and his beard was unkempt, it was true, but he had beautiful blue eyes that sparkled beneath long, thick, black lashes, which curled upwards doe-like. He had a straight nose and a square jaw with thick eyebrows lying masculine-ly below a high, clear forehead. His body was muscled, and his hands strong.

Chantal figured that lots of people would probably swoon over him. But she wasn't swooning. The truth was, Chantal had never swooned over anyone in her life. She had never even had a crush on anyone. But she figured that people would go crazy over him if she snapped a few pictures of him and got him up on a dating website. So they could try to find a way to break the plush toy curse. So they could find a way to get him back home. So he could kill Beleg. And then later kill himself. Because nothing could go right. Nothing!

'Chantal? Are you all right?' Beleg asked, laying a hand softly on her shoulder.

She nodded, blinking away tears. 'I've always kind of thought I'd die alone,' she whispered. 'Not alone like away from people, but alone like there's no one alive on earth I care for, or who cares for me, alone. Shot or something. Hit by a bus. Just…' she trailed off, realizing she had been going on and cleared her throat. 'Yeah.'

Túrin glanced at her face and then at Beleg.

Beleg read the next question. 'Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.'

'Hands, feet, faces,' Túrin stated bluntly.

'Seriousness, coldness, stubbornness.'

'For what in your life do you feel most grateful?'

'My mother.' That was Túrin.

'My mind,' said Chantal.

'If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?'

'I,' Túrin said, but then his face grew cold, and his eyes darkened. 'I do not wish to answer any more questions.' He got up, left the room quickly, and locked himself in the toilet.

Since her aunt and uncle slept upstairs, Chantal was not too worried about this. She sighed softly.

'I'll do it,' Beleg said. 'This is actually quite interesting.'

Andróg grabbed the computer and placed it on his knees.

'Starting where we left off?'

'Yes.'

'If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?'

'I wasn't raised,' said Beleg. 'I had no parents.' He smiled gently at Chantal.

'I'd wish for a different father. Or no father at all,' she said.

'Why?' asked Beleg, genuinely curious.

'He was cruel, and unkind without reason.'

'Next!' Andróg called. 'Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.' He frowned. 'Sorry, I misread that. Take thirty seconds.'

Beleg rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. 'I came into being,' he said, 'and learned all the ways of the woods. I allied myself with Thingol. The moon rose, the sun rose, Men came. I fought, I lived, I had friends, and then Túrin came. I helped him, I taught him, and now I work with him. You?'

'I was born. My sister and I became friends. My little brother was born. I was terrified of my father. I taught myself how to read. My little brother was sick, and then he died while I was holding him. I was eleven, I had no friends, I went through hell, and then I got into college. Now I'm here.'

Andróg left no opportunity for comment. 'If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be? Nothing vulgar, Elf,' he growled.

Beleg scoffed. 'To think _I _would say something vulgar.'

'Nothing vulgar – I mean it.'

'I would like to be able to breathe under water,' said Beleg. 'Don't ask.'

'I'd like to be able to transport from one place to another instantly,' Chantal said with a toss of her head.

'Aren't we realistic?' Andróg sniped. He continued. 'If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?'

'I would like to know the truth about how to stop Morgoth,' said Beleg.

'And I would like to know the truth about the universe,' said Chantal.

'Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it? Coward,' Andróg added, under his breath.

'I have dreamed of punching you in the face. Not you, Chantal! You, Andróg. I haven't done so out of loyalty to Túrin.'

'Do you see what I mean about vulgar?' Andróg asked primly.

'I've dreamt about making a movie,' said Chantal. 'And I haven't done it because I'm poor.'

Andróg's face screwed up as he read the next question. 'What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?'

'Learning the arts of the woods,' Beleg whispered dramatically, 'and teaching them to those I know.' He smiled a mysterious, Elven sort of smile and turned to Chantal.

'Um…becoming good at…writing? I guess.' She played nervously with the beaded ties of her green peasant top.

'What do you value most in a friendship?'

'Loyalty, trust, love.'

'I'm just going to agree with Beleg on this one.'

Andróg scowled, but kept reading. 'What is your most treasured memory?'

'The first time I made Túrin laughed, and he told me that he loved me.'

Andróg made a face and turned to Chantal.

'One time my sister and I got this huge buzzing, flying beetle in our room, and we pretended it was poisonous and ran away from it screaming.' She looked dreamy. 'It was fun.'

'Okay… What is your most terrible memory?'

'The Battle of Unnumbered Tears.'

'The day my brother died.'

'You're a lot better at this than Túrin was, I will have to give you that,' Andróg told Beleg. 'Next question: If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?'

Beleg looked distant as he answered. 'I would take Túrin down to the sea. He's always wanted to see it. I would live with him there and then die.'

Chantal made little bubbles in her cheeks before answering. 'I'd quit school, travel the world, and write a book. Oh, and make a movie.'

'Ambitious. Next question: What does friendship mean to you?'

Beleg smiled, which lit his face up. 'It means someone to be with, someone to care about, someone to hold and love and cherish. Friendship is having someone to have an adventure with and then laugh about it afterwards.'

'You have a beautiful way with words, Beleg Cúthalion,' Chantal remarked.

'Thank you. And what does it mean to you?'

'It means having someone you care about. Someone you'd die for.'

'Lovely,' said Andróg. 'I'm feeling the bonding. Question twenty-one of this stupid experiment: What roles do love and affection play in your life?'

'Very important ones,' said Beleg. 'They are both very important to me, and I try to show my love in affectionate ways every day.'

'Not very big roles,' said Chantal. 'My father hated love and affection because he hated everything. He thought it was indecent for anyone to be affectionate and foolish to proclaim love.'

Andróg, Beleg, and Mîm all gave her strange looks.

'What?' she said. 'My father was a perfectly sane, completely well-adjusted person without any issues.'

'I am sorry,' Beleg said. 'Truly.'

'Life's tough,' Andróg declared. 'Now: Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.' Andróg sighed loudly and slouched against the wall. He waved his hand at them. 'Just get it over with.'

Chantal glanced over at Mîm. He looked like he was plotting deviously, which was likely the case.

'I think you're very brave,' said Beleg.

'I think you're brave too. But, um, something different. You're very kind.'

'You're smart.'

'You're pretty. I mean—'

Beleg started laughing.

'Handsome. I mean you're handsome.'

'You're sweet.'

'You're skilled of hand.'

'You've got lovely hair.'

'You're very loyal.'

He smiled. 'You're creative, and very good at thinking up plans on the spot.'

'Well, you're brilliant at taking care of people, which is really lovely.'

'Enough, enough!' Andróg snapped. He held the computer closer to his face to read the next question. 'How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people's?'

'As I have mentioned, I do not have a family, nor did I have a childhood. I am close with my friends.'

Túrin slunk into the room. 'What was the question?' he asked Andróg, who told him. 'They ask a lot of questions about childhood,' Túrin muttered and sat down next Mîm, who looked thrilled.

'And, as I have mentioned,' said Chantal, 'I do not have a close and warm family, and I think that my childhood was not happier than most other people's. In fact, it was probably worse.'

'Oh, grow up,' Andróg snapped. 'How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?'

'I do not have a mother.'

'Can we just skip the questions that don't apply to you?' Chantal asked.

Beleg nodded. 'If you want.'

'How _do_ you feel about your relationship with your mother?' Túrin asked her.

'I love my mother,' she said. 'But I cannot trust her, and that makes things difficult.'

'Hmm.' Túrin pulled his knees up and hugged them.

'Okay,' said Andróg. 'Make three true "we" statements each. For instance, "We are both in this room feeling ..." Feeling…' he groaned loudly and sunk further against the wall.

'We both want to find an answer to this curse,' said Beleg. 'We are both tired of Andróg's annoying comments.'

Chantal smiled a little.

'And we both are being very diligent, which is a good thing. Your turn.'

'We are both in this room feeling,' Chantal began dramatically, 'frustrated with the situation we are in. We are both trying to find what is best for everyone without anyone getting hurt, and we both think Andróg really ought to stop sighing passive-aggressively when we're answering the questions.'

'Oh, joy!' said Andróg. 'I think they're falling in love.'

'Could be,' Túrin mused.

Andróg cleared his throat. 'Complete this sentence: "I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... " '

'My memories,' Beleg whispered.

'My fears.'

'It's a good thing we don't have to share those! Next: If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.'

'I get very sarcastic when tired,' Beleg said. 'You shouldn't take it personally.'

'You can't approach me from behind,' said Chantal. 'Because I _will_ freak out.'

'Oh, this one is going to be fun!' Andróg cried sarcastically, glancing over the next question. 'Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you've just met. Oh, and with me, take the sarcasm personally. Thanks.'

Beleg looked Chantal over for a few moments before speaking. 'I like that you're protective of people you barely know. You have shown much bravery and much gumption. You were a good host, and you agreed to help us even though that has only brought troubles upon you. For that I thank you.'

'Um,' Chantal mumbled awkwardly. 'Thanks. I really like how much you love Túrin. Your loyalty and love is beautiful, and I am glad to witness it. The strength of love you have is incredible, and your kindness is overwhelming. You are a very gentle person, and that is really lovely.'

'My word,' said Túrin, 'I think it's working.'

'They're two of a kind – sentimental love birds.' Andróg pulled another face. 'Okay, sweethearts, answer this: Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.'

Beleg chewed on his lip momentarily. 'I once accidentally got into bed with Melian.'

'Really?' Túrin said.

'Yes, it was dark, and I was very tired. It turned out all right though.'

At that Mîm looked depressed. Beleg looked at Chantal, waiting for her answer.

Chantal thought for a long, long time. Then she thought some more. She could think of no embarrassing moments in her life. None. 'I…called my aunt "mum" when I was six,' she managed finally. Huh. No embarrassing moments. She wondered what was wrong with her.

Andróg snorted. 'Hey, boring people, answer this: When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?'

'I last cried in front of Mablung because Túrin had gone away. I last cried by myself because Túrin had gone away.' Beleg looked sadly at Túrin, who tried to avoid eye contact.

'I last cried in front of my sister last January,' said Chantal. 'And I last cried by myself a few days ago because I missed my sister so much it made my heart hurt.'

'Tell your partner something that you like about them already.'

'Again!' Chantal cried. She turned to Beleg. 'You're funny.'

'You're rude,' said Beleg. 'I like that.'

She smiled.

Andróg gave them both disapproving looks. 'What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?'

'Túrin's face,' said Beleg.

Chantal giggled. 'This sorry state of affairs.'

'I'm pretty sure you're both joking, but we'll continue,' Andróg declared. 'Now: If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven't you told them yet?'

'I would most regret not telling Andróg that he's a low-down, no-good, scum-sucking, piece of garbage with a bad tan. For Túrin's sake I haven't told him yet, but, whoops! I just did.'

Chantal covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. 'I would most regret not telling Sauron that he can jump in a volcano for all I care, I'm not telling him where you guys are. And I didn't tell him yet because I'm afraid he'd not take it good-naturedly.'

Mîm chortled in the corner, but then caught himself. Chantal had a horrible feeling that he was imagining all the ways that Sauron could not take that brush-off good-naturedly. Again, she was probably right.

'Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?'

'My bow. I don't have many material possessions I care too much about, but I like my bow. Which I don't have here,' he added glumly.

'My computer,' said Chantal. 'It has all my work on it.'

'Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?'

'I don't have a family, but Túrin's death is the one I would find most disturbing of all the people I know because I love him more than anyone else in the world.'

Túrin raised his head and smiled at Beleg.

'My sister, because I cannot imagine life without her.' Chantal closed her eyes. 'I would rather die than have her die.'

'Last question!' Andróg announced. 'Share a personal problem and ask your partner's advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.'

'All right,' said Beleg. 'So I have this problem with being a plush toy and having to be kissed all the time to stay alive. What would you do if you were in my situation?'

'Hmm.' Chantal bit her knuckle, thinking. 'Well, I'd try to find a cure, but if I couldn't, I'd live with someone who loved me and would kiss me often enough that it wouldn't matter, and that way I would never turn into a toy.'

Beleg nodded thoughtfully. 'Now ask me how I feel about this problem.'

'How do you feel about his problem, Beleg?'

'I feel sad and scared. It makes me feel powerless, and I do not like that.'

'Do you have problems with being powerless?'

'Yes, I do. I think it's because I'm so used to being strong. Having that taken away from me makes me feel like someone stole me from myself somehow.'

Chantal nodded gravely.

'Now, tell me a problem,' Beleg said.

'Um, so I've been forced to help these people, and now I think they might be plotting something behind my back that might, perhaps, involve kidnapping me or something, and I don't know what to do about it.' Chantal gave him her best scared eyes. They were very big and supposed to be very endearing.

Beleg glanced at Túrin, who gave him a hard look. 'All right,' Beleg mused. 'I think the best route of action would be to talk to them directly about it and see if your fears have any grounding. How do you feel about your problem?'

'It scares me,' she said. 'I don't trust people easily, and I'm worried about what would happen.'

Beleg took her hand and squeezed it.

'Okay!' Andróg said. ' Enough of that! Now it's time for staring into each other's eyes for four minutes. I'll keep track with this clock here.' He pointed to the lower right side of the computer. 'Ready? Set?' He paused, waiting for the clock to show the next minute. Forty seconds passed in awkward silence. Then: 'Go!'

Chantal folded her arms across her chest and looked into Beleg's eyes. Just looking into someone's would not have been a difficult task for many, but for Chantal it was nerve wrecking. She hated eye contact. It made her feel all weird and horrible, trapped and intimidated, like she thought eye contact was somehow a threat. And four minutes of eye contact was scary for people who were good with eye contact. She could not imagine sitting through it. She steeled herself firmly.

Beleg's eyes were very hazel – a collection of many colours spun together. Green slipped in beside blue, while brown and gold radiated outwards from the pupil. Silver was flecked gently, and tiny hints of purple would show through. He had his hands folded under his chin; she could see them just out of her range of focus, all blurry.

Okay, she thought. This wasn't so bad.

And then her nose got itchy. She scratched it, still not breaking eye contact. So now her scalp was itchy. She scratched that too, silently cursing itches. But of course when you didn't want them, they came. Forehead itchy. Knee itchy. Back of the knee itchy. She clamped her hands down on her knees and tried not to move them. Scalp itchy. She scratched it. Blinked. Focused on Beleg's eyes again.

They were gentle, questioning. He seemed to be trying to read into her soul. So she tried to read his back. Hazy bits of forest planted themselves into her mind. She saw tree trunks in starlight.

Time moved slowly. She became acutely aware of Andróg breathing heavily through his nose, the scuffing noise of Mîm's beard as it brushed against his neck with each breath, the loud scraping, grating noise as Túrin scratched his leg.

Beleg had silver brown lashes. He had a dark brown spot of colour in his left eye, like the red spot on Jupiter.

The neighbour's car pulled into the driveway, and the floor vibrated. Chantal arched her back slightly. It was starting to ache.

'Do we have to be quiet?' Mîm asked suddenly.

'Yes,' said Beleg without breaking eye contact.

He reached out and took both Chantal's hands and held them, pulling her a little closer. He had probably noticed that she had been shrinking away from him.

Wow, four minutes was long. She thought back over her life, still trying to think of an embarrassing moment. Vaguely she wondered if she couldn't feel embarrassment. This was stupid, and her focus was going hazy. She ignored the embarrassment issue and refocused on Beleg's eyes.

Beleg had beautiful eyes. They were thoughtful and gentle, kind enough to melt any heart. And in that sudden moment Chantal realized, with a horrible sinking sensation in her stomach the likes of which she had never felt before, but figured was probably very cliché, that the whole 'fall in love business' might actually be working. And that was a terrifying thought.

'_And_ time's up!' Andróg shouted.

Chantal started, fearing that he might wake the house. 'Shhh!' she said, jumping forward on her knees, and promptly losing her balance what with the sitting still for so long followed by sudden movement.

Beleg caught her by the shoulders as she fell forward, and then she was half-kneeling in front of him, looking down at him. He looked up at her, puzzled for a moment.

'Should I?' he said, and she nodded before realizing what he was asking. By the time she realized what 'should I?' meant, he had cupped her head with his hand and drawn her face down to his and kissed her.

The kiss was tempered and soft. He was warm, and smelt ridiculously good, like vanilla and almonds. He steadied her with his hand. She could not remember the last time she had been touched so gently.

'Woo!' Andróg cheered.

And in _that_ moment, Chantal realized that her first _real _kiss was being given to her by a centuries old Elf in a bid for him to stop being a plush toy while a murdering outlaw, a petty Dwarf, and an isolating Elven king's foster son cheered and/or looked on. She would have said that things could not get any more awkward, but, just then, Sauron walked in.

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><p><em>Author's other note: Why do I do these things to myself? (Don't answer that.) Reviews would be much appreciated!<em>


	16. Then a thought came to him

_'Then a thought came to him...' _– J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Children of Húrin _

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><p>'Well then,' said Sauron. 'Isn't this interesting?'<p>

He stepped into the room and shut the door delicately behind him. The little cluster of pathetic people froze pathetically for a moment. Túrin reacted first, springing to his feet and reaching for a sword that was not there.

'Do not approach!' he cried.

Sauron sighed deeply and held his hands up, in a mocking position of half-surrender. 'Relax,' he said, 'I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to bring you back to Melkor.'

'Then what are you here for?' Túrin demanded.

Beleg stood, pulling Chantal up with him. Andróg had gone to stand beside Túrin, glaring at Sauron in an utterly pathetic display of menace. Sauron glanced sideways at Mîm, who was sitting in the corner pretending to be invisible. It was not working.

Sauron smiled broadly and sat down cross-legged on the plush turquoise rug.

'How is everyone?' he asked sweetly. Everyone stared down at him, except for Mîm, who was still pretending to be invisible and, as such, was not interacting with anyone.

'Good,' Chantal said finally.

'Be quiet,' Túrin told her sharply. 'We will not treat with you,' he said to Sauron.

'I'm not asking you to treat with me,' said Sauron. 'I'm not asking you for anything. Actually, what I am doing is, quite simply, telling you that I (might) be going to leave you alone.'

'Why?' Túrin sad.

'Because,' said Sauron, running his hand over the rug thoughtfully, 'I like it here. And I want to stay.' He smiled. 'I'm offering you the choice of helping me to take over the world. If you do, I'll give you riches and kingdoms, if you don't you can just live out your lives as you would, and if you oppose me, I'll kill you.' Sauron smiled again and looked up at the row of (mostly) glaring faces (Chantal was tapping her mouth and looking contemplative).

'You're going to take over the world?' Túrin asked.

'Oh yes,' said Sauron, 'I've got lots of power, and without Melkor here, I can be top dog.' He grinned as mischievously as an evil dark lord plotting to enslave humanity can (which is quite a lot, come to think of it).

'Wow,' said Chantal. 'Fun.'

'Almost as fun as kissing an Elf?' Sauron said saucily. She was obviously not taking him seriously, and that was rather annoying.

'Um, I wouldn't really call that fun, per say,' she said. 'It was more—'

'Whatever.' Sauron interrupted. 'Did it work?'

'I don't know,' Beleg answered.

Sauron stood, stretching. 'It's probably better for you if it didn't. After all, you won't be able to hide in suitcases or whatever now. You're going to have to become a person with an identity, and that will be very difficult for you I imagine.'

'Do you not know if it would work?' Beleg asked.

'No,' Sauron said slowly, 'I doubt it, but there is always a possibility.' He saw Chantal nodding her head along to that. 'But that possibility is very small,' he added quickly. 'Melkor isn't stupid enough to make a curse that a bloody kiss can break.' He laughed, but then stopped laughing abruptly, which was really quite scary. 'Unless,' he murmured, eyes narrowing, 'he did send me into the future not knowing that I would try to stay here…'

'The future?' Túrin puzzled.

'The future?' Beleg queried.

'The future?' Andróg questioned.

Mîm said nothing. He was still pretending to be invisible.

'Yes, the future,' Sauron said. 'I mean, it's closer to an alternative universe future than your actual _actual_ future, but I don't really have time to explain. I mean, I do have time, but I don't want to bother with it. I have a world to take over. The point is, he might have been that stupid. I'll drop by later to see. Right now, I have to go look for evil minions.' He straightened his leather jacket importantly. 'Ta-ta!'

'Wait,' said Túrin, 'we cannot just let you go and take the world for yourself.'

'I said you could help me,' Sauron drawled, 'but the whole killing you if you interfere thing is still in effect.'

'Hmm.' Túrin looked down, lips twisting in rage.

'Thinking about your dad?' Sauron asked sweetly.

Túrin's eyes flashed as he looked up. His hands were fists even before he lunged forward. He swung his hand back, and Sauron ducked. Túrin lost his balance momentarily and fell forward, but, with the agility of an Elf (having been trained by them), he managed to straight himself again and wheeled on Sauron.

Sauron jumped away from him and smoothed down his hair. 'Well, I think that might count as opposing me.'

Andróg grabbed his hands from behind and pulled Sauron against him, pinning him tight. Túrin also grabbed him, sealing Sauron between them.

'Do you think this is funny?' Túrin snarled, pushing Sauron's chin up. 'Do you!'

'No, but I do think it's fun.' Sauron yanked away from them, knocking both men over. Andróg was hurled backwards against the desk, and Túrin fell against the wall, knocking over a basket of nail polish.

Beleg grabbed Sauron with an arm around his throat, and they fell back together trashing onto the bed. The bed creaked as the Elf and Maia rolled about on the baby blue duvet.

Túrin sprang on top of both of them, once again sandwiching Sauron. Andróg joined in; wrestling Sauron's arm down, he lay on it. The bed made disapproving noises. Mîm got up from his corner and, still pretending to be invisible, went to the bed and hugged Sauron's ankles (to keep Sauron from kicking, not because he liked him).

Chantal stood, taking turns watching the fight and the ceiling.

'Opposing! Opposing!' Sauron gasped. 'Definitely opposing!'

'You bet we're opposing,' Túrin growled. 'We're most definitely opposing.'

'Well,' Sauron gasped, 'that means you'll most definitely die.'

'Not if you die first, scum of Morgoth!' Túrin grabbed his head as if to twist it off, and then Sauron was a wolf.

Sauron!wolf snarled and bit and scratched. Andróg went flying away, and then Túrin. Beleg was trapped beneath it, and its great body twisted over him, crushing him.

'Should I get a…knife…or something from the kitchen?' Chantal asked. She was watching the fight warily, but with an almost detached manner, as if she thought she were dreaming.

She probably did, Sauron!wolf realized. Or maybe…maybe the Elf had cast a spell. He looked over at her, but could not see much. Damn wolf vision! He shifted his eyes to more human ones. Yes, she had that look – that dazed, dreamy, glazed-over look, like someone who had just been given a lifetime's supply of doughnuts and had spent the past four hours celebrating with soft bites of fresh, sugar-coated dough laden with fat and calories, and sugar glazes, chocolate glazes, sprinkles and coconut – stuffed with jelly and jams and custards and creams – fat, thick, rich rolls of pure bliss all in that perfect ring shape – that _perfect_ ring shape. Doughnuts.

Doughnuts! No more stale way bread for him! No more hard chunks of rye rolls! It was going to be nothing but miles of deep fried sugar for him! A diet that made his taste buds dance and set off all the reward centres in his brain!

Sauron!wolf shook his head to clear it. Before all that, he still had work to do. Chantal had run off, presumably to get the knife. He had to kill these wretches and then kill her too. He rolled over on top of Beleg and bared his teeth, poised to bite through his neck. He was attacked again, but he had the advantage, and he soon felt the warm flesh of the Elf against his tongue, which was quite lovely, as Elves taste quite good.

But then he heard voices.

He stopped, pricking up his ears.

Chantal was talking to her uncle about the commotion downstairs and why she was carrying a knife, and that made Sauron!wolf remember something: he didn't want to get the police involved.

Normally Sauron would not have cared about getting the police involved, but normally Sauron had an army of orcs to back him up. Now he didn't have even one evil minion. He jumped off Beleg and scampered out into the hall. He had to do some damage control. He resumed his human form and ascended the stairs.

Chantal was standing in the narrow hall with her aunt and uncle, who were both dressed in pyjamas. She had a rather large knife in one hand and still had that oddly dazed look over her face. She was saying something about an apple.

Sauron cleared his throat. Chantal glanced at him, and her aunt and uncle turned.

'Hi,' Sauron said. 'I'm sorry, is she not supposed to have guests?'

Half an hour later, with the situation very much cleared (ahem), Sauron strolled down the street in the cool night air feeling elated. His counter spell had worked beautifully, and now Chantal was very much his mini minion. He just had to wait a little while and then he could kill of Húrin's son and his little gang of misfits very successfully.

Then it would be nothing but sports cars, smart phones, and Boston crèmes.

Minion, minion, he thought. Well, he had one, but he needed more. You couldn't very well set off to rule the world with just a leather jacket and an art student. No, he needed something bigger. Something badder. Something to scare the socks off any son of Húrin.

He paused, trying to remember if Túrin had been wearing socks. No, never mind. It wasn't important.

Minions. Minions. That was step one. After that, he would make an army.

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><p><em>AN: Sorry this is so late/short! I've been swamped with schoolwork (yes, since February!) and have just been really busy._

_So…I have a few ideas for where to take this story, but I would love to hear what you would want to see since that might help me make up my mind! (And I need ideas for the minions...)_

_Next chapter won't take so long, I promise!*_

_*but nothing, like, binding, okay?_


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